Thirteen Moons
by DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: Remus Lupin arrives at King's Cross thinking he's got school figured out. He doesn't. It starts when he notices something different about Sirius. Next, he notices something different about himself. It's not normal for one to want to rip one's best friend to shreds and eat him, is it? And what is Sirius doing, outside the Willow on a Moon? Wolfstar if you squint. Warnings inside.
1. First Moon: Routine

**Disclaimer:** I'm pretty sure werewolves, like zombies, are under the Creative Commons licence. This particular werewolf, though… Not sure. In the films he looks more like the Chupacabra, or a Were-Mexican Hairless. Not so in this fic. But I wouldn't claim to own him (or anyone else, rly).

* * *

 **In this Chapter:** It's the start of Third Year for one Remus Lupin, and he arrives at King's Cross thinking he's got school figured out.

Only, he clearly _doesn't._

It starts when he notices something different about Sirius, which upsets his routine (which is sacred, or should be, or was). Next, he notices something different about himself. It's not normal for one to want to rip one's best friend to shreds and eat him, is it? And what, exactly, is Sirius doing, trying to get past the Whomping Willow during a full moon?

Not Wolfstar because I don't ship in general, but I find it's scarily fitting as a pre-Wolfstar fic. It's also Pre-Runaway and plays in that AU.

* * *

 **First Moon: Ruination of Remus' Relaxing Routine**

* * *

The start of a new year at Hogwarts is always a thing of hope, of excitement, and he'd be lying if he thought he'd ever get used to it, but he has. There is no loss of excitement when he's packing his trunk for the upcoming school year, when he's folding his new robes (new for him, at least) and lovingly placing all his treasures inside with his customary precision. He is bubbling with anticipation as his parents side-along apparate him to Platform 9 3/4, can't wait to get on the train.

None of that is different on September first, 1973. However, there is a new element that has been added to this day. Today, he knows what to expect. Today, at last, there will be no surprises.

Remus Lupin already shares his life with the most unpredictable, deadly creature he has ever met, one that makes every full moon something volatile and erratic, usually in the worst way. He doesn't need any _more_ of that in his life, thankyouverymuch.

He remembers his First Year vividly, but it was a strange sort of rush throughout: he was so nervous he hadn't been able to sleep properly for weeks before, then he couldn't believe he was on the train at last, and everything was new, full of wonder and anticipation. He'd met James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and hundreds of other kids like him — or not quite, but they shared traits 26 days out of 28 — and he'd actually, really, made friends. That entire year had been memorable, especially when said friends had discovered his secret. They hadn't freaked out, but Remus had.

As far as surprises go, he hopes that will be the biggest of them all. For like, ever.

Second Year was exciting too, because he saw his best friends again and knew he was going home, and it was also new, because at first glance they had all looked so different and it had taken him (and the wolf) a while to get used to that, too.

But he has.

It's Third Year, though, and seeing Pete pinker and rounder and James taller is part of what he can expect. This Summer Remus, too, has put on a couple of inches, a handful of pounds. The only one who seems to shrink rather than grow, lose weight rather than gain it by the time he steps on the Platform is Sirius, but that too, has become a thing Remus accepts as fact. He'll fill out and catch up with James by Halloween as he always does, and Remus likes this predictability, likes it when he knows what to expect.

Remus sees his Routine in the compartment Peter will pick out for them — it's the same they had in First Year and the one they probably will occupy every year until they graduate. As always, Peter is the first to arrive, weighed down by the food Mrs. Pettigrew sends along for the ride, and Remus spots him wrestling the Snack Basket into the train the instant his feet materialise on the Platform.

He sees Routine in the usual Black Commotion a little further away, where Sirius yanks himself away from his furious-looking father's grip and his owl flutters up, hooting in alarm — he's refused to put Launcelot in a cage this time — and as usual, banishes his trunk to the pile with a flick of his wand and escapes to the far end of the platform. He fairly storms off to the Potters, who welcome him warmly and with smiles on their faces, and Sirius gives himself a shake and nods and smiles too, as he always does.

If it weren't for them, Remus muses as he takes one end of his trunk and his father takes the other, Sirius would probably blow the train up before it has even left the station. Privately, he thinks Sirius is just being over-dramatic, like his entire family (and there's no shortage of Blacks or half-Blacks at Hogwarts, so he's had ample evidence to support his way of thinking); that too, is something he has come to understand and expect.

Routine is everywhere except on the First Years' faces, and Remus hugs his parents goodbye and nods at the expected myriad last-minute reminders and advice, and don't forget to see the nurse upon arrival, and don't just gorge yourself on meat— vegetables are important too, and, don't forget to write, we will miss you, and come home for Christmas this year, won't you?

He joins James, who is, as usual, suntanned and happy and full of plans to make the Welcoming Feast a blast — which they never put into action because it's the Welcoming Feast and thus, sacred — and Sirius who is, as usual, too pale, too thin and almost feral-looking. Owl on his shoulder aside, the only thing that's different from any other year is his _smell_.

Under the faint scent of the designer soap and fancy oils, there's something about Sirius that makes Remus bristle. Something _different_. He doesn't know what it is. Hadn't expected that at all.

He doesn't like it.

Neither does the wolf.

This is unusual because of its intensity, as if whatever is cause for unease is right _there_ under Sirius' skin, and the wolf rears up and wants nothing better than to rip it off and look underneath to satisfy its curiosity.

And this isn't usual at all. Remus hasn't fantasised about eating his friends since Christmas in First Year. Even the wolf usually sees them as _friends_ and has long stopped wanting anything, where they are concerned.

Remus watches Sirius as he kneads the back of his neck — another habitual thing to see — and climbs on the train, exclaiming something about dibs on the meatball sandwiches Peter's mum sent along, but not the cheese ones, and things fall back into place as though stepping into the train is enough to plunge them back into a predictable sequence of events.

Remus doesn't even stop to wonder how Sirius knows what the sandwiches were made of upon getting on the train, not until way later. For now, he makes his way across the packed corridor to the very last compartment with the rest, asks Sirius why the hell he didn't cage his owl like he's supposed to.

"Exercise," is the answer he gets, and this, too, is predictably _Sirius_.

The train ride has a calming effect on Remus, as it is steeped in another part of his Routine: Peter tells them of a jellyfish that chased him halfway across the English Channel and makes them all laugh, and James has them in stitches about his trip to Ghana, where he and his parents went on a magical Safari, and even Remus has stories to share about his holidays in Ireland, and Sirius laughs and asks them questions and praises the meatball sandwiches like he's never had one in his life and hogs the sausages and says nothing about his Summer at all.

Then the conversation sort of fades — they're all stuffing their faces — and something changes yet again.

Sirius is suddenly gone, and Remus thinks it's to the loo or something, but after half an hour, he begins to think that, unless he had a bad meatball, Sirius shouldn't be taking so long to return.

"Do you think we should go look for him? Maybe he got stuck."

"He's just with his brother," says James, his eyes watching the countryside thoughtfully. "It's his Sorting, tonight, and the kid's nervous."

"But the Sorting isn't so bad," says Peter, mouth full of jelly worms: Remus, too, has brought some things to share.

"It is when you're a Black and your brother made Gryffindor," James corrects their chubby friend. "Remember First Year?"

"Oh," says Pete, and they fall silent again.

And this _isn't_ predictable.

Sirius doesn't come back until they're speeding past York, his arrival signalled by shouting (not his) and laughter (his) and a very familiar screech of: "Twenty points, you filthy blood-traitor!" courtesy of an enraged Bellatrix.

"You can't take points, Trixie Pixie," Sirius yells back gleefully, yanking the door to their compartment open. "The year hasn't started yet! Inbred moron!"

He slides the door shut and casts a Shielding Charm that starts glowing brightly as colourful hexes slam into it, his hair on end, robes smouldering.

"Who in their right mind would even _consider_ making her a Prefect," he mutters and flops down next to Remus, who gets a face full of that new Sirius smell at once. The urge to rip into him is easier to suppress, because he is stuffed with snacks and the wolf is sated. He wonders if he'll have to carry nibbles around again this year.

The elves would be thrilled.

"You said that last year," James reminds Sirius and puts him out with a wave of his wand. "I still don't have an answer for you."

The barrage of spells stops hitting Sirius' glowing blue shield near Stirling, and once again, the Routine is back, although something tells Remus he's witnessing the death of it this year. He shunts the thought aside, but he's keeping count of the changes, hopes he won't find any.

Sirius curls up in his seat and sleeps like the dead, _check_. James and Remus play exploding snap, _check_. Peter empties the snack basket while he watches, _check_. They all pitch in to fill it again with candy from the Trolley Lady… whose arrival makes James uneasy and Sirius start awake upon hearing her voice. _Damn_.

"They should change her," says James, who has been very quiet and trying to shrink into his seat. He let Peter and Remus do all the shopping, which is, again, out of the ordinary.

"What are you talking about, she's nice," Remus says, unwrapping his umpteenth chocolate frog.

"She really isn't," chorus James and Sirius, but they leave it at that.

Nap over, Sirius unfolds himself from his seat, cleans himself up, and he and James decide they've been sitting here for too long and it's time to look in on everyone else to see what they're up to.

The train ride ends in the customary flurry of activity. By the time they pull into Hogsmeade Station, the four of them have managed to get into three duels, have caught up with friends and enemies alike, Sirius and James have gotten slapped by their "former girlfriends" whom they swear up and down they had no idea they were dating, and collected — or paid up — their Quidditch bets on the Summer's games.

So far, so good, thinks Remus, and hopes things will level out now.

Sirius leaps off the train the instant it slows down, though, jogs to the front of the train to find another raven-haired boy, who is clearly _not_ enjoying his arrival much and looks confused and lost as the many Black relations surrounding him make their way to the carriages and leave him to his own devices.

Sirius throws an arm around him and leads him to Hagrid, exchanges some words with the enormous Groundskeeper who is clearly happy to see him, says something to the younger boy that makes him laugh.

Only then does Remus realise it must be his younger brother. The resemblance is striking, and he wonders how he missed it before.

"Good luck, and don't worry. Just do what I told you — you'll make Slytherin or it will be that rag's last Sorting, remind it if you need to. See you later, Veggie," Sirius calls over his shoulder, already hurrying to the carriage that will take them to school.

"Don't call me that!" But the boy is grinning as he joins the other First Years.

Sirius is very quiet as he glances at the front of the driverless carriage, as if he can see something Remus can't. By then Remus has stopped hoping for a predictable Feast.

Which is sad, he muses a bit later, when Sirius' owl causes a commotion by fluttering around over all their heads in the Entrance Hall and perches on his shoulder with a defiant "Hoo- _hoo_ -hoo!" The animal, like its owner, has a rebellious streak a mile wide, and even McGonagall gives up on trying to send it to the Owlery.

The Feast does not disappoint, however: none of James' plans to prank the Great Hall have caught on, as usual; the Sorting has no surprises, as usual — except for the half hour they had to wait for Black, Regulus Arcturus Phineas Vega to get put into Slytherin, which made the table at the far end erupt in deafening cheers — echoed by a lone, yet arguably the loudest, voice from the Gryffindor table — and, again as usual, the food is excellent.

By the time they all make their way to their dormitory and Remus peels away from the other Gryffindors to see the Nurse — as usual — his sense of stability is fully restored.

"Here's the list of all full moons this year," Madam Pomfrey tells him, once she's finished checking him over and declares herself satisfied with the state of him. "And there is one more thing I would like you to try."

Remus doesn't like change, but he is too turned around at this point to care.

"You said you still can't remember what happens when you transform," she explains, pouring him a mug of hot chocolate and offering some biscuits.

Remus nods.

"I would like us to try something. Or rather, you. Try and keep a record of however much or little you can recall."

"You mean, like a diary?" Remus asks, after a swig. And would she read it?

"Of sorts. You could only write about the Moon, of course. How you feel, what you recall, maybe one week prior and until one week after. I wouldn't read it," she adds, correctly reading his expression. "This is just an exercise for you to come to terms with your condition."

He likes Poppy Pomfrey for this reason: she doesn't sugarcoat. Remus looks down, nods. He hasn't been coming to terms with anything, has he. Mostly, he hides. Pretends it's not there except on the Moon.

"You need to," Poppy says kindly. "You need to stop hiding from yourself, Remus. You won't be in school forever, and though I'm sure you can use your Shack even after you graduate, you need to start coming to grips with yourself. Maybe this is the way to start. Maybe this will help you remember, and when you do, we can work on controlling those urges."

Remus promises he will give it a try, warns her not to hold out any hopes, and receives a beautiful leather-bound tome. If others read it, Poppy says, they'll only see coursework.

He thanks the Nurse, who smiles at him and reminds him to stop by the Kitchens in case he feels peckish.

Remus makes his way to Gryffindor Tower alone, troubled in a way he hasn't felt in a long time, even if Pomfrey just gave him something he ought to have liked: a new routine.

When he reaches the Common Room, James is talking with Gideon about a Puddlemere game he went to with his parents, Peter is reading a comic book while noshing on the last liquorice wand, and Sirius is nowhere in sight. His owl is in the room, though.

 _Oh_.

Sirius is honouring a tradition of his own: His first night at Hogwarts, he always soaks in the tub for hours, as though this can wash away every last second of his Summer.

Launcelot gives Remus the stink-eye like only an eagle owl can, from his perch atop Sirius' bedpost. It's like the thing knows something Remus himself isn't aware of.

Remus sniffs in that smell, that maddening scent that's unmistakably Sirius and yet completely alien. It's all over the things he's scattered on his bed upon arrival, it emanates from his open, messily-packed trunk, and Remus hopes the smell will wash off with that eternal bath he's taking, because the wolf has decided he'll want to pick that one apart.

In that regard, Remus and the wolf are like-minded: they hate not knowing what to expect.

* * *

The school year begins, and at first it all seems to be falling into place as it usually does: James relentlessly pesters Trent Wood, their Fifth Year Quidditch Captain, to call for try-outs and fill the roster and book the Pitch before anyone else; Peter is excited when he gets to charm the suits of armour for their first official prank this year; Sirius emerges from his usual start-of-year sulk incredibly quickly and gets his first detention by Wednesday for animating a rug in the Fourth Floor to snatch kids up and fly them around the hallways whenever they step on it.

They have to pick their elective classes, and Remus decides upon Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, which James is also taking. Peter only picks Divination because it sounds easy, and both James and Sirius pick Care of Magical Creatures, and Sirius decides on Advanced Arithmancy. At the last minute he also picks Muggle Studies, claiming it's the only subject he'll actually have to study for, so why not?

Remus finds it's all normal and all-around predictable. The year is looking up.

The only thing that isn't working out at all is that damned journal.

Remus has always loved coursework; it gives him something to focus on that isn't the wolf, or its urges, or smells or the stinging of his latest scars. It lets him hide in plain sight, and if there's research involved, it's also his best escape from himself.

Now it's one week to the September Moon, and he has written exactly zero words.

He carries the thing around in his book bag, flips it open here and there, closes it again. Tonight he is determined to get at least something on that tantalisingly blank page, however. He dips his quill in the inkwell, and…

Nothing.

"Taking up novelling, I see," Sirius' voice startles him — and there he is, sweaty and muddy from Quidditch practice. He throws himself onto a chair across from Remus, who clenches his jaw. Sirius reeks of that smell again, the one he can't place, and the wolf, who has been rather dormant of late, wakes up, curious all over.

"You need a shower," mutters Remus. "And novelling isn't even a word." Sirius sniffs himself, grins, and shrugs.

"James beat me to the bath if you must know, and you know how much of a hog he is. What are you writing, then?" he asks, leaning forward to look at the blank page.

"Nothing yet," Remus lets out a breath he's been holding, to little effect. That maddening new smell is buried in his nostrils with the next inhale, and the wolf snarls deep within.

"You should make it an adventure story. With like, monsters from the depths of the Forest, and dragons, and pigs, that sort."

Sirius has no idea.

"Pigs?" Asks Remus, amused despite himself.

"They're scary. Their snouts are snotty, I'm not even joking. And they'll eat anything— kind of like you, next week."

"Shut up, Sirius. And- just _go away_." Remus didn't mean to snap, but it's out before he can bite his tongue. Sirius gives him an odd look, and how can he not, Remus wonders. He didn't see it coming at all, and clearly, Sirius didn't, either.

"Have it your way," is the blithe answer, and the next moment Sirius is gone.

Remus sighs, wondering if he'll manage to keep himself in check. It's only one week to the Moon, and… and he looks down at his journal, where he has written something at last.

' _I want to tear Sirius Black to pieces and eat him._ '

No, this is most definitely _not_ a good way to start the damn thing. Still, an assignment is an assignment, and he ought to explain himself here.

' _He smells differently now, I don't know if it's good different or bad different and the wolf wants and I don't know if I'll manage not to give it what it wants because I kind of want it too._ '

Remus closes the book with a snap and stares at it as though it's poisonous.

He's pretty sure this _wasn't_ what Madam Pomfrey had in mind when she said to write his recollections down, was it?

He's tempted to tear out the page, but he's _Remus Lupin_ and worse than Pince when it comes to caring for books of any kind — James has maintained for years he'll end up as Hogwarts' next Librarian — so he doesn't tear it out and burn it like he would like to.

He stuffs the journal in his book bag, as though that could obliterate the words he's just allowed to flow from his quill, as if hiding it from sight will also conceal what the wolf really wants.

It doesn't.

The next six days crawl by, with a new routine: Remus wakes up early every morning, fights off the urge to piss all over Sirius' things or give him a good bite on the throat just to get rid of the smell of him, then goes to the Kitchens to pick up his snacks, and stuffs himself while he avoids so much as looking at Sirius the rest of the day.

Sirius seems to have noticed, because aside from "Morning" and "Night" he doesn't talk to Remus, either, but he's so damn casual about it Remus doubts James or Peter have caught on at all. And he's selfishly grateful for Sirius' reaction.

Moon Eve falls on Tuesday, and it's easily the hardest day for Remus. Thankfully, when he wakes up, Sirius' bed is empty, and the wolf is disappointed.

Remus is relieved.

He doesn't see him all day, either, but he's so busy trying to avoid him, he doesn't notice until dinner that Sirius hasn't been around at all. It's not like him to skive, unless they're all doing it together.

"Where's Sirius?" He asks Peter, who is already having at his stew as though it'll run away from him.

"Said he wasn't feeling up to dinner. If you ask me, he's in he Kitchens trying to wheedle some steak tartare from the elves again."

"What, now?" Remus asks, nonplussed, as James walks into the Great Hall with a harassed-looking Trent Wood, gesticulating as he describes one of his newest strategies.

"Come on, like you haven't noticed," Peter actually pauses to stare at him for all of three seconds before he's focused on shovelling food into his mouth again. "It's his _thing_ , isn't it, he's been scarfing down that stuff whenever he can since last year. I'm sure that trip to Transylvania has something to do with it. Try the Kitchens, I'm sure he's there."

Remus doesn't try the Kitchens. Instead, he decides he'll spend the night in the Shack. Pomfrey doesn't even ask him why, when he goes to tell her.

He goes to his room to pick up some things to pass the time — and on his bed, neatly wrapped in Muggle butcher paper, is the biggest steak in creation. The note, in Sirius' Edwardian-style script, reads: _Figured you'd like this._

And the whole thing reeks of _animal_. He doesn't know what to make of it.

The steak, Remus finds out later as he settles into the Shack, which is blissfully devoid of strange smells that stir up his killing urges, is indeed delicious.

* * *

Remus wakes up in the tunnel when Madam Pomfrey comes to collect him on Thursday. His hands sear and the rest of him hurts, and when the Nurse has doctored him into a bleary-eyed sort of consciousness, he sees why: he probably spent all night clawing at the Willow's roots, trying to dig himself out — There are inch-deep gauges dripping sap in the roots, the earthen tunnel walls.

"Oh, _dear_ , dear," Poppy mutters, and Remus hisses at the bandages that wrap themselves around his broken, bleeding fingers. They're soaked in Dittany, and he's made to swallow a bunch of potions, and then she picks up his things for him and takes him to his bed in the Hospital Wing.

"Can you remember what happened?" she asks him, worried.

Remus shakes his head — but just as he's leaving the tunnel, it hits him again: that bloody insanity-inducing _scent_ is all over the clearing around the Whomping Willow, or is he imagining it now? Either is entirely possible.

A moment later, the Nurse takes pity on him and levitates him to his bed.

* * *

Remus doesn't wake up again until lunchtime.

As he's taking a half-arsed tally of what all is wrong with him this time around and surprised when he doesn't feel like his ribcage reassembled itself inside-out, he notices what woke him.

Sirius is arguing with James outside his curtains.

"You _shouldn't_ have done it, that's all I'm saying," James mutters, and he sounds annoyed.

"You'll have to do it too when the time comes," Sirius answers in a low voice, and _he_ sounds grumpy. "How else was I to know if it would work at all? He doesn't even want to speak to me since we got on the bloody train."

"And what did your stupid little experiment accomplish?" hisses James. There's a silence, broken only by the Nurse a little later.

"I told you two to get out of here, didn't I?" and Madam Pomfrey sounds cross. "He'll be all better by dinnertime. Now, I know for a fact you have a Care of Magical Creatures Class to go to, and I shall not sign any permission slips for either of you, so."

Grumbled protests reach his ears, and an exasperated, "Yes, yes, I'll give him that, now get cracking, you're ten minutes late as it is."

And they're gone.

Poppy Pomfrey pulls his curtains open, her previous annoyance gone.

"Black and Potter," she informs with a smile, placing a package on his bedside table. "Honestly, it's as if those two know."

"They don't," Remus lies at once.

"Oh, _of course_ they don't. Can you imagine the uproar if they did?" the nurse laughs lightly, shakes her head. "The Potters would be worse than the Blacks if they thought their son was in any danger."

Remus nods dutifully, though something tells him the Blacks wouldn't care much at all.

Of course, his friends _know_. The Sorting Hat just _had_ to stick him in the same House, nay, _room_ , with two bloody geniuses with eyes on their heads, with not an ounce of self-preservation instinct between them, one of whom can calculate entire star charts and lunar phases to the millisecond in his head.

It's a miracle they didn't work it out until Christmas in First Year, if he thinks about it. The only uproar there had been, however, was the one Remus himself had caused. They had surprised a few years out of him when they confronted him, then _kept_ his secret, kept his friendship, and when he returned from holidays, they had all pulled Peter into the fold.

 _'I'm a monster, don't delude yourself.'_

 _'Come off it, Remus,'_ Sirius scoffed. _'No monster could ever wear sweaters as well as you do.'_

 _'I'm not joking.'_

 _'What, and you think I am taking the piss? What you are, Lupin, is the absolute coolest thing in creation. Now, if you're quite done feeling sorry for yourself, there's a snowball fight on, come on.'_

And now he wanted to kill Sirius for it. Would he then start seeing James that way too? _Peter_?

"Let's sit you up," said Pomfrey, snapping Remus from his reverie. "It's surprisingly little this time, just your hands… and I believe they're pretty much healed by now. I'll talk to the Headmaster, ask him to reinforce the tunnel from the inside so you can't dig yourself out."

She leaves him to rest a little later, and Remus tackles the package his friends left for him.

That now-familiar scent wafts to his nose, but the wolf doesn't react as he did before the Moon. All Remus gets from it, is ' _friend_ ', a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach he can't explain.

The contents of the package, too, exceed his expectations: A dozen meatballs, uncooked, courtesy of Sirius. A bar of Honeydukes Best from James and Peter.

He pulls out his journal, and writes,

 _'09.13.73 No longer want to kill and eat Sirius Black.'_

It's a relief.

It's also very, _very_ short-lived.

* * *

By the time he's released from the Hospital Wing — feeling better than he has in years — with a friendly reminder to try and recall what happened last night and write it in his journal, he finds his friends waiting outside.

"All right, Remus?" Out of them all, James is the most anxious, Peter is plainly scared, and Sirius is the furthest away, leaning against the wall.

"Yeah. Never better, actually. Not sure what happened," Remus replies honestly. James looks relieved, gives Sirius a sideways glance.

"Told you all he needs is some steak the night before and the morning after," says Sirius, and is that _satisfaction_ on his face? Remus' eyes meet Sirius', and he suddenly gets a flash of actual recollection, his very first: a face peering through the roots of the Whomping Willow, clear eyes piercing the darkness. A voice-

His relief is suddenly gone.

It makes him uneasy, and he doesn't understand it, it's just the vaguest of memories and there's a strange, dreamlike quality to it, but he does jot it down that night, after helping Peter with his Charms essay, while James and Sirius are away Merlin knows where.

' _Sirius outside the tunnel_.'

Even as he writes it, he half can't believe it. But then, if there is _anyone_ foolish enough to try and get into the Shack…

Can he honestly say Sirius _wouldn't_ try it?

* * *

 **TBC** , in the meantime, I'll howl with joy at any feedback sent my way!

 **Up next** : Remus can't remember his Moons, James and Peter are suddenly jealous of Sirius, Sirius is a foodie, and Remus finally begins to write in his wolf journal. He can't really believe what he's writing in it, though.


	2. Super Moon

**Disclaimer:** Alright, so a few disclaimy things before we begin. [disclaimything 1] [disclaimything2] [disclaimything3].

Thank you.

* * *

 **In this chapter:** As anticipated, Remus is losing his already shaky grip on himself. Sirius seems to enjoy woodland creatures just about as much as any growing lad, James is too obsessed with Quidditch, Peter is too obsessed with cheese. Sirius is a very unwelcome host but he does bring the best food, Launcelot is like, everywhere but he has his uses. And then something unravels, and James and Pete are jealous, lose a bet, and then everything veers sharply south because, stupid Wizarding Law and the Blacks show up and now I have to change the warnings to accommodate for those two, so here you go: BLACKS WARNING. There. Tried to fit in Reg, but he's busy writing three feet on the uses of Mandrake Root, so he'll pop by as soon as he's done.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Super Moon: Remus' Non-existent Grip on Things**

* * *

September gets into full swing and Remus suddenly finds himself with all hands full, what with the new classes he's taking, and homework, and spending long hours in the Library… and avoiding Sirius like the plague.

While Remus hasn't felt any urges to tear him to shreds since Moon Eve, Sirius' usual scent has been changing, he can't delude himself into thinking he's imagining things anymore; it's intermittent, but when it appears it keeps getting stronger, more pungent, and it's maddening because Remus feels he _should_ know what it is but doesn't. And while the wolf has understood what that scent means and doesn't want to rip Sirius apart anymore, now Remus wants to _dominate_ him, show him his place in the natural order of a pack.

It makes no sense at all, but he finds himself itching to pick a fight with Sirius now, and not even a verbal fight. He wants fists to be involved, and claws, and teeth. Sirius has given him no reason to, none Remus could rationally explain. In fact, the things Sirius has done for him ought to make him want the opposite.

So, he hides in the Library, tries to minimise any interaction with Sirius… and somehow, it works out.

Sort of.

Every evening, he still stares down his wolf journal, looks at the three sentences in it, stresses because he can't add to it and still retain his conscience. He tries, of course. He tries to write good things, things that will show he's got this thing covered, the wolf under control any day except for the full moon. He _tries_.

A few weeks in, he's still staring at those bloody three sentences, wondering if he even wants to continue with this farce.

Their school obligations help Remus a lot where his biological make-up fails: Wood gave in to James' insistent pushing and doubled Quidditch practice, which means Sirius and James are busy training almost every day after lunch and all morning on weekends, then practise on their own at least until dinner whenever they can. Sirius conveniently picked a lot of classes, too, and though that doesn't mean much of anything — Remus doubts Sirius has ever cracked a book open twice for his top marks — at least it means a handful of Sirius-free periods during the week. Not to mention, sometimes all three of his best friends are just… gone.

This stings, especially when they arrive late for dinner together, looking like they had a grand time without Remus, or when they exchange looks while eating that Remus can't understand. Just the other day, as September was bleeding into October, Peter made a wild grab for a wheel of cheese and the three of them cracked up like nutters and Remus hadn't understood what was funny about Emmentaler at all.

However, he'd be lying if he claimed he didn't cause it himself: he _did_ tell them he was busy researching something or other for Arithmancy and he escaped to the Library every minute he could spare.

He just hadn't expected them to have things to do without him or leave him out of their little inside jokes so soon.

Sirius is also quite fascinated with his Muggle Studies curriculum, so Remus has grown used to finding him with his nose buried in Muggle books, or talking to the Muggleborns in the Common Room about Muggle stuff, or, by October, tinkering with a Muggle wireless he bought from a Muggleborn Ravenclaw girl — according to Peter, she wanted a kiss in exchange for the thing. James claimed Sirius hadn't kissed her, but paid her ten Galleons for it. Remus is too chicken to try and get the truth from Sirius himself.

It's not until Sunday before the October Moon that Remus realises Sirius has been staying out of his way as studiously as Remus has been avoiding him. Belatedly, as everything seems to hit him of late.

He's been dreading this Moon.

It's a bloody super moon, so he'll be a wolf for two whole days and _those_ are always the height of nasty, so by Sunday and with only three days to prepare for the ordeal, Remus is nothing but distracted: he's been having trouble controlling the wolf, who feels the pull of the Moon and it has become a yank and Remus tries to deny he is impatient for release, but he is. It doesn't let him sleep, or focus, or even hide successfully from his friends.

It's about an hour before dinner when he returns to his dormitory, hoping to get to lie down at least — but all thoughts of sleep go out the window when he finds Sirius on his bed, his owl on his head — the damn bird won't go to the Owlery even now, it's even perched on his shoulder during class now — a strip of meat in his hand and a look of relish on his face.

The smell slams into Remus' nostrils before he can backtrack, and it roots him to the spot. The wolf has been trying to classify it, too. It was _prey_ at first, then after the last moon, it morphed into _friend_ , then… _competition_. Now, though, it's _predator. Alpha. Challenger_.

"Alright?" Sirius asks, and Remus doesn't register yet how it comes out throatier than usual, almost at a growl. How Sirius stiffens, or how his nose bloody _twitches_ at the sight of him.

He doesn't register any of those things, because _he_ is ready to pounce, because he's smelling a challenge, a territorial battle he can't — _won't_ — dance around any longer. His own voice is half animal when he answers, "Yeah. You?"

"Sure."

Sirius' eyes don't leave his, and Remus stares unblinkingly at him as he takes a step, but it's not a step outside as he intended, but towards his — _his_ — bed, which makes the tension in the room — _his room_ — grow exponentially.

Nose working with every breath, he knows Sirius has been outside — no surprise, he's only ever indoors when he's bloody _forced_ to — but the wolf registers the forest, and _hunt, chase, success_. His eyes shift for an instant to Sirius' hands — they're covered in blood, holding a piece of meat, a _bone_ , and suddenly Remus wants nothing better than to snatch that morsel for himself. Show Sirius who's boss before he gets any ideas and thinks too highly of himself.

 _Nip it in the bud_ , the wolf agrees.

"What's that?" he asks, thinking it comes out casual, but instead it's a growl.

"Snack." And Sirius, too, is growling.

It seems perfectly normal, even natural at this point.

Remus finds his teeth grinding, tensing for a lunge — he _will_ go for it, after all, he's hungry and the stuff Sirius is eating looks good — and Sirius too, tenses up, sensing what's coming. He's not backing away.

 _Good_ , thinks the wolf. _Some sport will be had, after all_.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Remus takes a step forward—

Sirius straightens up, ready to jump out of bed— and are those _fangs_?

Just then, Launcelot lets out a screech, flaps around Sirius' head and flies straight at Remus— he's startled by this sudden motion, and Sirius blinks.

The moment is lost.

"Hoo-hoo- _hoo_!" hoots Launcelot fiercely and flutters onto Sirius' shoulder, claws digging into flesh.

Sirius gives a startled laugh, shakes his head as if to clear it.

The fangs are gone, and so is the meat, the bone, the blood, even the overwhelming smell of him. For an instant, it's just _Sirius_ a few feet away. Even the wolf is confused. This _isn't_ a predator, much less a challenger. It's just a too-thin, rather short, irreverent kid whose voice hasn't even changed, how could _that_ even _growl_?

"I just remembered I have this thing," Sirius says lightly, leaps out of bed and strides out the door before Remus can react. "See you later," he says over his shoulder, where Launcelot is still perched, head almost turning 180 degrees to give Remus a glare and a parting, " _HOO_!"

 _What_ , Remus wonders, _the_ hell _just happened_? The wolf wonders the same.

Did he imagine the whole thing? Did he just try to bloody _bite_ Sirius?

 _Merlin_.

He's losing his grip.

Other than a few moments during meals where Sirius quite literally shovels down his food in a few minutes if he shows up at all, Remus doesn't see much of him over the next few days.

Even during class, Sirius picks the seat farthest from him, rushes out like the castle is on fire the instant they're let out, Launcelot swaying on his shoulder. He arrives dreadfully late for class, gets detention for that too. Remus picks his seats next to open windows, and gone are the muttered greetings and good-nights: They stop talking altogether, and now even James has noticed, to judge by the uneasy looks he shoots at Remus when he looks up from his Quidditch strategy books.

* * *

October 10 dawns crisp and cold, and again, Sirius isn't around, he didn't come in at all. Remus is very much aware of it; he hasn't slept a wink all night, wondering how he will explain away his absence this time. He'll have to go to the Shack today, he'll go insane if he doesn't.

He'll go insane if he does.

Maybe he should use the excuse of the sick aunt again? A family get-together he just can't get out of? It's only the second Moon of the year, though, and Remus isn't sure if he won't need that excuse again later.

 _Two_ days of Full Moon, though. The wolf will go to town on himself, and Remus can't deny it any longer — he _is_ terrified, and he really, really _doesn't_ want to spend three days in the Shrieking Shack.

Especially since there's a fair chance he'll just finally succeed in ripping one of his own limbs off this time. He can feel it, and he dreads it like he's never dreaded a Moon before.

But what _can_ he do? So maybe Sirius didn't spend the night in the dormitory, but he is hardly the only boy in the room. There's ten of them overall, and what if he does the same thing to James, or Peter, or —

" _Gah_ ," Remus mutters, sits up in bed. He _has_ to leave. After dinner, he decides.

The entire day washes over Remus like a dream morphing into a nightmare. He can't focus on his classes, can't avoid going to lunch because he's ravenous, can't feel sated even after three helpings of Shepherd's Pie.

Of Sirius, again, there is no sign.

James, too, is gone, and Peter squeaks something out about them practising for Quidditch when Remus asks. He's terrible on a good day, but now the wolf can sniff out a lie and he's not fooled. Peter ends up stammering out something about homework, and that's a lie too.

"Fine, don't tell me," Remus snaps, and strides out of the Great Hall. Trust his friends to desert him in a blink, forget all about his problem and abandon him before a bloody super moon.

Again, Pomfrey doesn't ask anything when he tells her he wants to go to the Shack early, suggests he say he's going on a trip with his father — the letter has already arrived, she'll give it to Minerva.

At least, Remus muses as he walks with the Nurse across the deserted grounds, he can still rely on his parents, and her. Disappointment is still a bitter pill to swallow.

"I'll come and check on you tomorrow morning and after moonset. Here, have this," she tells him, presses a basket into his hands. "Take the potions if you can, they'll help."

Remus notices the change the instant he's alone in the tunnel. The wolf bristles, too: Sirius has been here.

As if to confirm, he hears a familiar, " _Hoo_!" coming from the depths of the Shack.

"I hear you Launcelot," says Sirius' voice. Remus picks up the pace, suddenly furious.

" _What the hell are you doing here_?!" He erupts the instant he emerges from the trapdoor. "Are you blind as well as stupid? The Full Moon is—"

"Tomorrow," says Sirius coolly, that thrice-damned owl on his shoulder, a pointed look on his face. "Now stop shouting and sit down, I'm sure you're hungry."

"I just had lun—" Remus protests, but then his eyes fall on the room, which is…

 _Tidy_.

Hell, it's positively sparkling, compared to the debris of over twenty Moons he's spent here since First Year: The piano is in a corner, the sofas and couches he usually tears into are fixed and clean, even the piss stains are gone.

And there is a table with two chairs and Hogwarts gold cutlery and covered plates in the middle of the room.

"Aw, you're such a romantic," Remus bites out through gritted teeth. Who does Sirius think he is, coming here and cleaning up his space? Sullying it with that smell that's everywhere now, dammit. "It's just the two of us then?"

"James and Peter wouldn't understand," is the answer, delivered in the same cool tone. "They'd just gag and complain and things. No, this is just us."

 _Good_ , says the wolf.

"You shouldn't be here." Remus' tone is flat. He is still angry.

"Sit down, Remus. You'll feel better after we eat." Sirius' tone is almost ice, and Remus feels scrutinised. It isn't a nice feeling. "Eat," he repeats, points at the table.

"You _shouldn't_ be here." Remus' voice is shaking with anger.

"You said that already. Yet, here I am." Sirius raises an eyebrow, nods at Remus' plate. " _Eat_."

Remus clenches his jaw, but he finds himself walking to the table, uncovers his plate, even as Sirius does the same. The golden platter is brimming with bloody steaks, but Sirius developed a taste for raw meat ages ago, didn't Peter say so? Didn't Remus himself see him eating it the other day?

He hadn't imagined it.

And, Remus realises, it's not the first time Sirius has shared something like this with him. Last month he sent him some of this, too. Remus privately thought it was one of those Black family things, weren't there rumours flying about that they were like, half vampires or something? Hadn't Sirius laughed about that a few days ago?

Now, he's not so sure if they're unfounded anymore.

He is sure of _one_ thing, though. There's something about Sirius that's _just not right_. Not _human_ , and the wolf's hackles are rising.

They sit down all civilised like, despite the locked eyes and clenched jaws on both of them. Sirius has weird quirks like that. Doesn't like to eat standing up unless it's a sandwich. Always uses cutlery. Remus has seen often enough how he tries to be more like the rest of them, how he tosses less-than-perfect manners out for the heck of it, like an experiment he is trying on himself, to see if it will suit him, if it will _fit_ him. He might even enjoy it, this incessant exploration into a normal teenage wizard's life, butting in on his werewolf friend's private world, that sort of thing.

But when he isn't paying attention, or when he's stressed or tired — his every motion becomes smooth and flawless, practised, and oh, _so very posh_. Remus secretly envies him his impeccable posture, those bleeding table manners that put everyone to shame, mostly because he makes it look so natural, so effortlessly _proper_. Remus feels like an uncoordinated toddler in comparison, but it's one day to the Moon, and he _is_ hungry.

"What is this, then?"

"This, my friend, is a prime rib steak, so fresh it was mooing two hours ago, and this," Sirius informs like the perfect little host he is, lifting a golden lid off another platter, "is for afters." There's two very meaty, very fresh legbones on it, and Sirius looks very satisfied with himself when he catches Remus' expression.

"I _mean_ it." Remus snarls.

"Why are you here so early?" asks Sirius instead. Remus finds the way he ignores him beyond irritating. "The Moon's not until tomorrow."

"It's a super moon. Lasts longer."

"Hm." Sirius nods to himself, cogs grinding. He's probably calculating it in his head, as if Remus would _ever_ get a Moon wrong. "Do you turn back in between?" He asks next. "Or do you keep your tail on until the phase changes?"

"Sometimes, I guess. I don't know." Remus can't stay mad, the smell of the bloody steaks in front of him is taking up all of his attention. He gives in, cuts off a large piece, stuffs it in his mouth. "This is good," he decides, mouth full and chewing. "Where did you get it?"

"Muggle butcher's. They don't ask questions. Why _are_ you here a day early?"

"I get…" Remus sighs. "I can't trust myself. I get these… urges."

"To bite?" Trust Sirius to poke the sore spot.

"Yeah. And claw, and _kill_ if you must know."

Sirius scratches himself behind the ear, thoughtful. Nods to himself again, like he's figuring out a bloody Arithmancy equation. It drives Remus to distraction. He's not an equation that can be figured out! He's a wolf, and tonight, he's over half there already.

"What do you do for food?" Sirius asks next, curious. "Three days is an awfully long time."

"I…" Remus hadn't expected this question. "I don't…"

"Ah."

Remus stares back at Sirius, whose eyes are boring into his. Takes another enormous bite of his steak, while Sirius watches him. Let him watch, then. He'll have the idiot kid for dessert. _That's_ what he'll do for food.

"And the rotten mood, that's the wolf as well? Or is it just you?"

"Shut up. You shouldn't be here. Not _here_. Not tonight."

"The Moon isn't until tomorrow," Sirius reminds him, moves to pick up his knife and fork at last, that thoughtful expression on his face.

Remus can see Sirius is both stressed and nervous. He can bloody smell it on him, past that scent that screams _predator challenge alpha kill_ all of a sudden, and a part of him waits for him to let his guard down, cut a bite-sized piece of meat…

Remus slams the knife into his steak. Fork in his mouth, Sirius stares into Remus' glowing yellow eyes.

" _Mine_." It's a snarl, part warning, part dare, and all threat. Sirius lowers his fork slowly, staring straight at Remus. Chews thoughtfully. Swallows. Impeccably unimpressed.

"You have yours," he says clearly.

" _Mine_." Remus repeats, growling now. He's crawled over the table, he doesn't even know why. Right now, he doesn't care either.

Sirius doesn't have any concept of personal safety, Remus is well aware of that. He doesn't seem to have the slightest interest in it, either. His fork slams into his steak, not an inch away from Remus' knife.

"Mine," Sirius states. It's almost casual, not even threatening, not _yet_ , like he's explaining something incredibly basic to a pup who is about to cross a boundary. But Remus isn't a puppy. He is a _wolf_ , a strong, wild untamed _vicious_ wolf, and this _—_ this tame, proper, animal, this _thing_ — has no _right_ to deny him anything he might happen to want.

That's how Remus finds out Sirius isn't human, not anymore, and the part of his brain that retains a shred of logic puts two and two together at last, because much as he's been avoiding Sirius, he _has_ been watching: he hasn't missed the drooling upon entering the Great Hall, the barking laugh, the _sniffing_ , because what the hell does Sirius sniff shoes and parchments and food and the bloody lavatory for, like it's all good smells, like he's fascinated by the world of nasal perception. Like he's just _itching_ to sniff arses and crotches too, and Remus, who knows these urges inside and out, suspects he has. He's just very posh about it too, he can just bet Sirius would never end up on all fours trying to get a whiff in like Remus did when he was little — and how didn't Remus notice before when it's been going on for _ages,_ even before the Summer and it's all suddenly so _obvious_ and how could he be so blind?

He growls out his threat regardless. Sirius growls back.

And this is how it always starts, how it always will for the next twenty-three moons and beyond. Sirius might be crown prince in his little Pureblood world, but he is not the king of the wild, that's _Remus_ , that's the _wolf_ , and no tame upstart will take that from him.

Bottom line: Sirius has no right to defy Remus.

And yet he does. All the time. It only takes one look.

"You have yours," Sirius explains, and again, there's that condescending tone, like he's letting a pup climb all over him and bite his tail because he's _so_ bloody superior, but he's aware it's time to start teaching it a lesson, teaching it respect for its pack.

Because he knows better.

Remus doesn't need to be taught manners, thank you very much. The wolf _takes_ and everybody else just has to deal, that's all there is to it.

"You haven't even tried the marrow yet," says Sirius, irritatingly calm. "Why don't you eat that first, and if you're still hungry after—"

He doesn't get any further. Remus has already sunk his teeth into Sirius' steak.

"Oh, _no_ , you _don't_ ," says Sirius. It's a growl, one that holds the same warning Remus graced him with. Threat. Whatever.

 _It's on_ , the wolf thinks, and lunges.

.

* * *

.

James walks into the Third Year boys' dormitory to drop his things off before dinner to find Remus mopping the floor and Sirius sitting on the sill by the open window, one leg dangling lazily over the edge while he plays with a toothpick. If he's surprised by it, he hides it remarkably well. All he does is give Sirius a glance, gets one in return. Remus doesn't understand half of what they're saying by that alone, and at this point, he doesn't care.

"You two need to shower," says James. " _Ugh_. Or maybe it's me." He sniffs himself, grimaces, decides it can probably wait. "See you at dinner, I have to ask that idiot Wood if he scheduled the Pitch for tomorrow before breakfast." And he's gone.

"You missed a spot," says Sirius, pointing at the foot of Gideon's bed.

"Why am I mopping the entire room, again?" asks Remus.

The whole evening has been a blur. He's not even sure why he's in the dormitory at all. All he knows is he's bone weary and wants nothing more than to sleep, Sirius won't let him, and he doesn't have the energy to argue.

"Three reasons," says Sirius, jumping off the sill and onto his bed, which Remus made for him not five minutes earlier. Without magic. "One, I fixed all the stuff you broke in the Shack _and_ cleaned it up. Again. Two, you _pissed_ all over my stuff. And more importantly, three: You scarfed half my steak, you greedy _bastard_."

.

* * *

.

Remus' watch chimes and reminds him he must hurry.

It's ten past five, the Full Moon is about to rise, and Peter just _had_ to hold him up with his inane questions for Ancient Runes class. It took forever, too. Honestly, Pete could just open his book every now and then, remember it's a Moon tonight, at least. And why did he let Sirius talk him into going to class this morning?

Five minutes before moonrise, Remus waves the Nurse away and hurries down the tunnel, shrugging off his robes and leaving his clothes scattered along the way as he goes.

Sirius is in the Shack already by the time Remus stumbles out of the trapdoor, hopping on one foot to get his shoe off, in nothing but his pants. Rushed as he is, it takes a moment to sink in, during which he can only gape, open-mouthed, at his friend.

Sirius is in the Shack.

It's the Moon.

He's got a death wish.

Sirius flashes him one of his toothier, happier grins, casts a spell on the boarded-up window with a flourish. He can never sit still, can he, and now he knows how to bloody _get in here_ —

" _What are you doing here?_!" It's a shriek more than a question, but it's warranted. He can feel the change start already.

"What does it look like?" Sirius retorts, stepping back to examine his handiwork, where he's been reinforcing the windows. "You're really not much of a housekeeper, this shield here was failing."

" _GET OUT OF HERE_!" Remus shouts in shock and alarm. He can't believe Sirius is really _that_ stupid, but he is, after all. "I'll bite you! I'm not _kidding_! The Moon's about to rise—"

Remus is panicking and he's not listening to whatever Sirius answers, because it's too late, _way_ too late and even if he locks himself in the bedroom, he'll catch Sirius and kill him before he can even make it to the tunnel.

Sirius though, the big oaf, doesn't move, tells him it's all right, acts like nothing is the matter, but Remus can smell the adrenaline, that not-quite-fear he doesn't understand, he never has, and now he never will, because smell or no smell, Sirius will die tonight.

He frankly thinks Sirius is really _that stupid_ , it's probably all just a game to him, he thinks Remus is a cuddly little puppy or something — and the wolf thinks, if he's _that_ stupid, he doesn't deserve to live anyway.

Thirty seconds, and Remus won't even make it upstairs now. His bones are already locked, he can't move.

" _Run_ ," he bites out through gritted teeth. Instead of running away from him, though, Sirius hurries _towards_ him.

 _Idiot_.

And then the change comes, slams into him like a Bludger and Remus doubles over, bones breaking and cutting through flesh, limbs changing and stretching and shifting and it's all screams and _pain, pain, pain_ until the wolf is free from the confines of his body, large and vicious and anticipating his first hunt and kill — how long he's waited for this day — and Remus' last rational thought is, _Shite_.

The wolf doesn't expect it when there's suddenly a _dog_ standing before him, tail wagging even if it's smaller than him, fearless and startling and fascinating in a way he can't understand. His yellow eyes narrow, a snarl leaves his throat. The dog smells of something he's met before, something that made him want to play instead of bite, but it also smells of _predator_ like him, and _challenger_ , and _competition_ and _friend_.

They begin to circle each other, and even the dog has the grace to look wary, hackles rising. It smells of _pack_ , though, and the wolf has wanted a pack for years.

However.

It is also _trespassing_.

.

* * *

.

"What did you tell Poops?"

It's James' voice. It's also the first thing to break through the haze Remus' mind has been swimming in for an unknown amount of time. He can hear it quite clearly from his usual bed.

"That I got bitten by a stray," says Sirius, and his voice sounds tight despite the lightness of his tone. Remus gets a pang upon hearing it, he's not sure why yet. But it will come to him, won't it?

"Did she buy it?"

"Sure, she even bought it when I told her the dog chased me into the Forest and I couldn't make it back until today," says Sirius — and there it is again, a flash of recollection, an instant only, of a large black dog, turning into Sirius. In the Shack.

 _Oh, gods_.

"Dammit, Sirius." If Remus could speak, this would be the thing he'd say too, but his jaw hurts like a mother.

"She gave me an earful about Hogwarts' anti-dog regulations and how I can't keep one without the express consent of my parents and Head of House. Then she told me off for trying to feed a wild animal and what was I thinking." Sirius laughs a little, but it turns into a wince.

"I'm wondering the same," James sighs, exasperated. "Gah. You should have _waited_ for me, damn you, not run off like an idiot the instant you got it."

"I'll die of old age before you manage, and he needed the company." James doesn't seem to have a response to that, and Remus doesn't quite understand what Sirius means. Now he's lapsing into consciousness, he vaguely remembers… It was a long Moon, wasn't it. That would explain why he hurts all over, why he hurts in places he's never hurt before, too.

"Yeah, Sirius, but he's needed it for years, and this Moon lasted _two_ days," James shoots back at a hiss. "You only managed to turn for the first time _minutes_ before moonrise!"

"Yeah, and what better way to field-test it?" Sirius answers, and Remus can hear the grin in his voice. "You're just jealous because I beat you to it, both of you, thus making you three hundred G's poorer."

"Shut up, Sirius." And that's Peter. He sounds like he's about to cry.

"That's three hundred _each_ , Petey. A bet's a bet."

"You're not…?" James leaves the question hanging, but Remus feels his stomach plummet. Sirius. In the Shack. During the Moon.

"No, I'm good," says Sirius, then adds, "I think. She checked, I believe. Not sure. Thinks there's other wolves in the forest."

"Are there?"

"I don't know. There might be. It is a big forest." Sirius lets out a groan, and there's some shifting about, some trademark James cursing under his breath.

"He got you good."

"Yeah," Sirius agrees, chuckling. "He's got claws, half an inch. Hadn't counted on those. And he's _strong_ , James. It's like wrestling a bloody troll that bites and scratches."

Remus feels his stomach clench most unpleasantly. James' tone only furthers the notion that no, he's not having a very vivid nightmare. He did, in fact, attack someone at last. Not just anyone, either. Remus feels his eyes begin to sting with a horrified sort of regret.

"Do you still think it's a good idea to—"

" _Yes_ ," snaps Sirius at once. " _Hell_ , James, _yes!_ Absolutely."

"But if he —"

"He's feral, give him a break," Sirius cuts him off, and he sounds exasperated. He never speaks to James like that. "All he's _ever_ known is cages, James. He'd never even _seen_ another animal before, of course he'd feel threatened at first. You keep working on it. I'll make sure he stops having us for snacks by the time you're both ready."

"You think you can _tame_ a—"

"No. But I think I can socialise him. To us, if nothing else."

" _Sirius_ —" It's full of concern, of dread.

"Go _look at him_ if you don't believe me." Sirius is hissing, he sounds furious. "Both of you, go look at him and then trot yourselves back here and look _me_ in the _fucking_ _eyes_ and honestly tell me I _shouldn't_ go back, that it's not worth it."

"Remus, you're awake." Madam Pomfrey is smiling at him, her voice drowning out the goings-on one bed over. "I have no idea how you managed this time, lad," she says. "It's not as bad as I feared, but you nearly tore your knee to shreds. And your back, and your left gluteus needs to be reattached. You'll be here for a little while longer than I'd hoped." She sighs, and Remus echoes her. "I'll be back in a second with your lunch."

"What d-d— ?" What did he do to Sirius, he wants to ask, but it hurts to speak and she doesn't catch it at all.

"It's still Thursday," she replies, then sticks a thermometer in his mouth and bustles off to get his potions and food and whatnot.

A moment later, the darkness is complete again.

.

* * *

.

The sun is setting when Remus wakes up again. He can see the window past his open curtains, and he waits for a moment for the world to stop spinning. He feels hot and achy, but beyond that he also feels terrible and is unable to recall why.

Until he spots Sirius one bed over, and he knows that it doesn't matter if he can't recall sod-all squared: part of him won't ever forgive himself.

"Sirius…?" He stumbles out of bed, but his legs won't carry his weight and suddenly there's Pomfrey again, intercepting him.

"Remus, _no_! You'll— you'll—" she doesn't finish, but Remus' brain has caught up with him. He lets out a curse.

"Sorry. I just wanted to see—"

"I know, Lupin, but you can't. You _can't_ come close, not like this. Let's get you back in bed, now."

"What happened?" he asks, once she has given him his customary potions and made sure everything is getting attached to her liking.

"Apparently you idiot of a friend went to the Forbidden Forest the other day. Said he was taking food to a stray who turned out to be less friendly than he expected." She shakes her head, sighs. "Will you be all right on your own? I need to call your Head of House. She will contact his parents."

"Why?"

"Can you honestly not think of anything, lad?" Poppy's expression turns grim. "What if that stray he saw was a —" her voice falls to a whisper, "a _wolf_? There's a colony, deep in the forest. What if one of them came too close to the school?"

Remus stares at Sirius, but he's asleep, and from here, he can't tell where he bit him. Racking his brains for any memory, however, only makes his head spin and pound.

McGonagall comes in a little later. Remus opens his curtains a little, just enough to look in on them.

"He was bitten by a _werewolf_?" she sounds incredulous, like she can barely contain her frustration. "Are you certain, Poppy?"

"I don't know," Pomfrey admits. "I don't know why, but I just can't rule it out. The wounds aren't closing as fast as a wolf bite would, but… All my findings are ambiguous at best— sometimes the samples say dog, other times they say wolf, and yet other tests come out negative. The only thing left, I fear, will be to wait until next month and hope for the best."

"Wait for what?" Sirius sounds half asleep, gives the two witches a bleary-eyed look. He doesn't look like he's dying.

"Mr. Black, you're awake!"

"Hello, professor. Sorry I missed Transfiguration."

"Never mind that, Black. Can you remember anything that happened? Could you describe the… the animal that bit you?"

"Um, well," Sirius thinks for a moment, then gives the witches a sleepy smile. "It was like, massive and all black…" The Nurse pops a thermometer in his mouth. "It was a _very_ beautiful animal, and like, huge, y'know. It was amazing." Sirius grins around the thermometer in his mouth. Googles doesn't, her lips a very thin line.

"Did it look like this?" She unrolls a scroll, which shows a moving picture of a werewolf. Sirius looks at it, shakes his head.

"No, professor," he answers, amused. "That's not a dog. That's a werewolf, and not a very good likeness, at that."

"What about this?" The next picture she unrolls is that of a dog… sort of. Sirius chuckles.

"That's a Grim. Are we playing a game now? Guess the canine?"

"Did it look like that?" McGonagall presses on.

"Oh…" Sirius squints at it. "Yeeeah, sort of like that, almost. The ears are more… triangular, and the fur is longer, and sleek, and soft… it was a _magnificent_ animal, this dog looks all scruffy and ugly and like it hasn't eaten in weeks."

"Mr Black, I am not sure you understand how grave your situation is," McGonagall tells him. Remus has to agree with her, he's oblivious. "If you saw the Grim, and then a were—"

"It is possible that you were not bitten by a dog," Pomfrey says, cutting McGonagall off. Apparently, the Nurse has decided it's time to sugarcoat things.

"It's possible that you were bitten by a werewolf." Clearly, McGonagall doesn't.

Sirius laughs at that, as though she just told him a joke.

"Really, professor. A Grim and a Werewolf, and what, were they together?"

"I am ser- I am not joking, Mr. Black. I'm afraid the possibility is rather a matter of concern. I will have to call your parents."

Sirius' eyes widen, and is that _fear_ on his face?

That, Remus thinks, would be a first.

" _What_?" Sirius sputters, "No. No, professor, don't call them, go on. Not _them_."

"I am sorry, Mr Black. But it is your parents who need to decide on the next steps we have to take. If you were bitten by a dog, then you'll make a full recovery. If not… Our laws are nothing if not explicit in that regard."

"Ah, _bollocks_ ," groans Sirius.

It is a mark of how worried McGonagall is when she fails to take points for language. And it's a mark of how agitated Sirius is when Pomfrey fills him to the brim with a sedative.

Remus watches Sirius sleep from his bed, his curtains shut except for a tiny crack he can peer through.

"You should be lying down," the Nurse admonishes gently.

"What will happen to him if he was bitten by a wolf?" Remus asks instead, eyes still fixed on his sleeping friend.

"That depends on his parents. Not all families decide to do the same thing as yours did." Madam Pomfrey shakes her head, defeated. "Lie down, now. You don't want your buttocks out of alignment."

.

* * *

.

Remus looks up from the book he's been pretending to read for the past hour, lying down as instructed. It's not hard to follow Pomfrey's orders, everything stings and throbs and aches if he stirs, and call it what you will, it _still_ isn't as bad as other Moons he's had, not nearly as bad as what he'd expected. Physically, at any rate.

He has been trying to recall something from the past two days, trying to remember what happened— but it's all a blur. His best recollection is from after the Moon, when he found himself wrapped in a blanket, wearing his pants on his head like a cap, and Sirius turning into a large dog and limping out of the trapdoor.

Remus' best hope for answers right now is wait for Sirius to wake up and hope he tells him all about the past two days. And then he will kick his arse, for going to the Shack in the first place.

He's been glancing over at Sirius, using a One-Way Window Charm he and James taught him last year to see what was in a room without going in, but all Sirius has done is sleep and drool onto his pillow. Waiting, Remus finds, isn't as easy as it used to be.

Footsteps approach, and through his Charm, Remus spots his furious-looking Head of House and a tall, slender couple enter the Wing. His first thought is, Sirius looks almost exactly like his father. He's never gotten a proper look in, and he wonders why that is, as well.

"Well. Here he is. I hope you shall reconsider your decision." McGonagall's usually crisp voice is thick with suppressed anger. She turns on her heel, shakes her head at Pomfrey and walks out stiffly, as though she cannot bear to be near the Blacks a second longer.

Orion and Walburga Black ignore her, looking their eldest over in silence.

"Are you positive it was a werewolf?" Orion Black asks the Nurse. There is no concern in his voice, just the same sort of distaste that is written all over his face whenever he sets eyes on his sleeping son.

"I am not positive, no. I can show you the results of my tests— but they are all inconclusive."

"What happened, Nurse Pomfrey?" The witch— Sirius' mother — wants to know in a bored drawl.

"He was found by one of our students at the edge of the Forest this morning. He said he was trying to feed a stray dog that bit him. I have reason to believe he came across one in a feral pack."

Orion smirks, lets out a small chuckle.

"Oh yes, he does like dogs, doesn't he."

"Here is the most recent result of my diagnostics—"

"No need," Orion interrupts the Nurse dismissively. "I believe we can agree that we shall not have a conclusive result until the next full moon."

"Indeed. I... If it was a wolf— I… I…" The Blacks both stare at the Nurse, who gives them a helpless look… and gives up. "I shall leave the two of you with him. I have given him a sedative, to help him rest. Do call me if he wakes up."

Sirius' parents regard him for a few moments, and Remus looks as hard as he can— he can't find the faintest sign of concern on their faces.

"Well," says Orion in an offhand tone Remus has heard from Sirius before, when something unimportant doesn't go his way, and he has to give up, like when he tries to find a passage in the castle and fails. " _This_ has been a waste of our time." Remus isn't sure if he's referring to coming here, or to Sirius. Either sounds possible.

"But convenient," says his mother, delicately. "You know how _dreadful_ those enquiries can be, if we have to dispose of him ourselves."

 _Dispose of— What?_

"What, you don't want to keep him as a pet?" Orion's smile is crooked and elegant and wry, another one of Sirius' trademark expressions, only it's all _wrong_ , as wrong as the words they are using. Sirius' mother lets out a low, elegant sort of laugh.

"What makes you think fur and drool and that animal _filth_ will endear him any more to me? No," she said. "I want him gone. The Ministry can take him."

"I'm half tempted to have them take him now," Orion muses aloud, and Remus' stomach decides it's a good moment to twist itself into knots. "As a precautionary measure."

"What if it _was_ only a dog, darling? What if they decide to keep him until the moon and he fails to turn?"

"Enquiries _are_ a dreadful thing," Orion agrees. He raises his cane, uses the tapered tip to lift the end of the bandage covering Sirius' side like a kid poking a dead animal with a stick, looks thoughtfully at what he sees. "No dog could have done this. Unless it was an enormous animal."

"What's that white stuff, over there?" asks his mother, scrunching up her nose as she points vaguely with her finger.

"That would be the hipbone, darling. It's quite exposed." Orion uses the cane to uncover more of the bandage and peer underneath, as if looking for something. Sirius lets out a moan in his sleep. "I cannot say for sure," he establishes. "McGonagall was right. The only thing we can do is wait and hope for the best. They can deal with him here this month. If he turns into a beast, that's our prayers answered. He'll be dealt with appropriately."

Remus doesn't even blink, taking in the sounds emanating from their mouths, the casual way in which they're condemning his friend to death. He's encountered this attitude towards werewolves his entire life, but never with his parents. Never here in school. Seeing Sirius' parents talk about disposing of him like they're wondering who will take out the rubbish drives it home like a hammer.

"Such a waste, waiting." Orion mutters to his wife. "There is one way to find out. I'm sure he remembers what happened."

"That nurse said she sedated him. I do not wish to wait here for him to wake up, we have that Dinner Party with Elladora and Cygnus, and I do not want to be late, much less over this."

Orion flashes her a grin, turns his cane around. Presses down.

There's a strangled sort of sound, half gasp, half choke, and Remus is half out of bed— but what can he _do_ but stare —

Sirius' eyes fly open.

"Look, he's awake," says Sirius' mother with feigned surprise.

"Is that even the correct pronoun, I wonder." Orion's eyes are fixed on his son's with something bordering on hatred.

Remus is shocked, can't believe what he sees. Orion Black, he decides, is _frightening_ , beyond that even, and he suddenly understands why so many people fear the Blacks. If they're all like him—

But he's familiar too. He sounds like the wolf, hell, he _acts_ like the wolf would if he could, says things the wolf thinks in his head. Only, it's impossibly worse, because he's here and he's _real_ and he's a monster.

Orion does not lift his cane from Sirius' side, who has gone rigid, hands clenched around a fistful of blanket. Sirius' expression, what Remus can see of it, is one of sheer terror.

"I hear you outdid yourself this time, Sirius."

"F- _father_ …?" Sirius grits out. "What—"

"What did I teach you about dogs? Have you forgotten already?" Orion does something that makes Sirius writhe in pain. All Remus can see, is the clenched jaw, the wide, terrified stare he is fixing his father with. "You _stupid_ , useless boy — this could kill you. Over a dog, _again_? It serves you only right. If you're really this stupid, you do not deserve to live."

"N-n- _ngh_."

"Were you bitten by a werewolf?"

"N-no," Sirius gasps out.

"Pity. Well, _they_ seem to think one bit you," says his mother, and she too, sounds like even speaking to him is taxing her beyond belief. "Let us hope that's true and spare us the shame of you once and for all."

The cane is removed after another glance at the now freely bleeding wound, and Orion gives Sirius a satisfied smirk, a parting tap that makes him wince. Sirius stares at his parents unblinkingly as they turn away. He looks like he can hardly get a breath in. Neither can Remus.

All these years, he thought Sirius was a bit of a brat, entitled and excessively dramatic, who rebelled against his parents because they just didn't give him what he wanted, when he wanted. He'd pegged him for a spoilt rich kid who didn't get along with his father.

Maybe it's time to revise that idea.

"Nurse," says Orion imperiously. Pomfrey hurries over, wringing her hands. He gives her a polished amulet. "Pure silver will tell you beyond any doubt whether or not he is infected."

"Place the flat end into the wound and if it fails to close by next week, he is a werewolf," Sirius' mother supplies, as though giving someone cooking advice.

"In such case, you are to contact the Department of Disposal of Magical Creatures immediately," Orion adds, offers his wife an arm. "Good day."

"But even if he were, there are _ways_ —" Pomfrey protests. Orion gives her a dismissive wave.

"Our Noble House has no room for half-breeds and monsters. If he gives any sign that he will turn, call the Ministry and arrange for the disposal at once, can you do that?"

Poppy gapes at them both.

"But— _Orion_ — Mr. Black, there are _options_ —"

"Never you mind, I shall notify his Head of House and the Headmaster of our decision directly." Orion gives her a curt nod, turns on his heel, and leaves, his wife at his side. "I want that _thing_ gone if so much as one whisker appears."

Pomfrey stares at the Blacks' retreating backs and for the first time in his life, Remus hears her curse. She looks conflicted when she returns to Sirius' side.

He's gasping for breath, still clearly shaken. Remus can see tears on his face.

"It's all right, Mr. Black," she tells him comfortingly, uses a cloth to wipe at his face. "We'll figure something out, I am sure the Head—"

"What are you doing?" asks Sirius, laughing through gritted teeth at the perplexed Nurse. "I'm not sad, Madam Pomfrey— it just _really hurts_."

* * *

TBC, thanks for reading!

A/N: So much for succinctitivity. Succinctivitis. And so much for implied anything, too. I just can't seem to write non-graphic Orion Lecter in my head. I'd appreciate your thoughts, and stay tuned for the next installment… possibly in a couple of days, if work and inspiration allow… and I shirk my laundry duties.

 **Next up:** Regulus has finished his essay and decides to visit, Remus has stuff to write down in his journal at last, and a certain Muggle butcher in the town of Doncaster is getting rich catering for what he thinks is a restaurant but in reality is just a pair of hungry canine teens. Also, more moons. Yes, plural.


	3. Third Moon: A First Time for Everything

**Disclaimer:** The dog ate it. The wolf helped. They even pee'd on what was left.

* * *

 **In this chapter:** Regulus visits his big brother. Remus has a talk with Sirius and starts to remember stuff, and ends up doing walkies. The Blacks are disappointed and have no qualms sharing the news, and the wolf decides dogs aren't so bad, after all.

Note: In this AU, James is born on Nov 1, Sirius on Nov 2. Otherwise it's mostly canon-compliant if you're cross-eyed.

* * *

 **Third Moon: A First Time for Everything**

* * *

.

The following morning, Remus is feeling much better and Pomfrey tells him he'll be able to leave this very afternoon.

Remus is only glad his arse is all back where it belongs.

James and Peter have been banned from the Hospital Wing, as have the rest of their friends, but they've sent Remus a note — Sirius hasn't been awake to read his yet, but his damned owl is now dozing on his headboard, a scroll in its claws — and apparently word got out that Sirius might just be a werewolf now.

Wolf jokes aside, James' letter is mostly speculation on how they'll share the Shack and wondering if he has to send his elf to that Muggle butcher every day now, because beef and mutton don't come cheap.

Remus doesn't find it funny.

In fact, he doesn't find _anything_ funny just now, how can he, he went and _bit_ his idiot best friend, and he can't even recall the first thing about it — just a glimpse, of Sirius fixing a window, a glimpse of Sirius walking away.

Twenty-four hours later, Remus isn't even sure the dog he saw (or thinks he saw) wasn't a figment of his imagination; it looked a hell of a lot like that Grim McGonagall showed Sirius last night, maybe he hallucinated it.

Maybe he hallucinated _all_ of it, to cope with the knowledge of what he's done.

He's torn between being furious at Sirius for being such a daft twat, and immensely guilty for not driving the point home any better, for not making damn sure Sirius would not be around him during the Moon, for not confronting him about going to the Willow last month, for not explaining without a doubt that he is, and always will be, a bloody monster.

Mostly, though, Remus is feeling sorry for himself in a way he hasn't in a long time, and here he can't even hide behind a book. Just behind his curtains.

"Have you been here long?" A sleepy voice snaps him out of his little pity party. The Dreamless Sleep potion Sirius was given last night seems to have finally worn off… but who is he talking to? Remus has been so immersed in his own thoughts, he missed it.

Remus quietly casts the One-Way Window Charm again — his curtains are closed, and until further notice he'll keep them that way — and spots Sirius' brother sitting cross-legged on the bed, supporting his chin on his hands.

The boy looks like a younger version of Sirius, with tiny flaws — the eyes are darker, the hair tidier, the chin pointier — but he is watching his big brother with the exact same thoughtful look Sirius fixed Remus with that other day, cogs grinding… and — Remus can see it now he's not mad — troubled. Worried.

"Mother said you were bitten by a Werewolf," says the boy for a greeting. His voice is soft, his tone strange because it's so businesslike. "She warned me not to visit."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have." There's no reproach in Sirius' tone, as he rubs his eyes and sits up against his pillows. There is a stained bandage on his left side, from hip to ribcage, and innumerable scratches all over him. Sirius looks at his brother for a moment, then smirks.

"I _could_ be quite contagious, you know. Give you a little nip." The boy's expression changes, into something that could almost be termed amusement. "You do look rather good enough to eat, and hospital food is terrible."

"You wouldn't," Regulus answers after considering his options carefully. "You'd have to catch me first."

"That does sound like an awful lot of work, Reggie Veggie."

"Don't call me that," says Regulus, but there isn't any real annoyance behind it. He looks at Sirius gravely again. "Father said he'd send you to be dealt with, if you're a beast now."

"He would," Sirius agrees, as though it's obvious.

" _Are_ you a beast now, though?"

"If you go by what Elladora has maintained for years…"

Regulus raises an eyebrow — do they mass-produce Blacks now? — in the same way Sirius usually does when he wants someone to stop bullshitting him. Says nothing. Sirius sobers up immediately.

"No, Reg. I'm not."

"Are you _sure_?" There's the tiniest inflection there, of _hope_. Remus finds it strange that this seems to be the first Black who doesn't wish Sirius the worst, and it's his little Slytherin brother, the one who's been making heads turn ever since he arrived, and, if gossip is to be trusted, already knows more hexes and curses than most Sixth Years.

"I am," is the answer, Sirius' tone surprisingly gentle. He sounds so certain, too, and Remus worries what will happen when he realises how wrong he is. "They'll be ever so _disappointed._ "

Why is he _chuckling_? It's a lie, Sirius should be aware of that by now. Remus _knows_ he bit him, he bloody tore a _chunk_ out of him and he's laughing about it, like his parents didn't come here last night, like he hasn't been given three Blood-Replenishing Potions for it, like he isn't in a hospital bed and risking death come the next full moon.

"Joke's on them. I half wish they'd call in the Disposal Squad now just so they get some extra humiliation where I can see."

Regulus looks down, shows a tiny smile. Remus finds it strange too, how Sirius' answer seems to be _enough_ , enough for Regulus to instantly stop dreading something that is _still_ entirely possible, something Remus fears will happen in a mere fortnight's time. Waxing crescent, he always begins struggling then, and Sirius will too, sooner than later.

"If you do, Father will make sure they dispose you."

"Dispose of," Sirius corrects, and Regulus actually smiles now.

"Just to shut you up, proper grammar and all."

"In that case, the joke would be on me," says Sirius lightly.

How they can joke about such a thing is beyond Remus' limited understanding. The Disposal Squad is something he fears with all his might. It's the boogeyman that will get him if he isn't good… But he already _wasn't_ , and it's not coming for him. It's coming for Sirius, and he doesn't seem to care.

"Absolutely," Regulus agrees. "But, silver linings. I wouldn't have to hear that stupid nickname anymore."

"What's wrong with Veggie?" asks Sirius innocently. "It's better than Credulous Regulus, I think, but if you insist…"

"Gah, that one's even worse." The boy pulls out a bar of chocolate, unwraps it, hands Sirius half. "So, you're positive it wasn't a wolf."

"It was a dog. It's easy to confuse the two, you see, they're species of the same genus."

"I know what a dog is," states Regulus. "But you did go to the Forest. On a full moon."

"It was hungry," Sirius offers for an explanation, takes a bite from his chocolate. "What did you expect me to do, let it starve?" He sounds like the mere thought is preposterous, and Remus realises he's not even lying.

Regulus shakes his head, like he can't believe that's the reason Sirius left the safety of the castle.

"What is it with you and dogs, anyway?"

"I _like_ them," says Sirius simply. "They're in my name, hell, they're on the bloody coat of arms we get shoved down our throats from birth. How could anyone _not_ like them, that's the question you ought to ask."

Regulus snorts, "What, so should I be obsessed with lions now, just because they're in my name?"

"Oh, no," Sirius says at once, playful mood gone. "Don't even _joke_ about that. Ever. Much less in front of them."

"But they're not here, are they." Regulus answers, and Sirius deflates.

"They were," he informs his brother. "Impeccable role models, as always."

That makes Regulus chuckle. Remus feels his stomach wring itself like an acid rag.

"Did they flip a lid?" Regulus sounds curious. Sirius' expression doesn't change one bit, as though the question doesn't touch on something horrifying he's only just woken up from.

"Half a flip. How's Slytherin treating you?"

"Eh, all right, I suppose," says Regulus, and Remus wonders how the boy doesn't even question the change of topic.

Until it hits him: Regulus hasn't a clue.

"Classes are _boring_. I know the entire House already, and I don't like them any better here than I liked them during garden parties. Well," he amends. "Most of them."

"Any friends?"

Regulus nods. "Yeah, you know. There's the youngest Nott, he's okay. And this other kid, Zabini. And this girl, Anna Montague."

"Nice and respectable, Regulus. I'm proud of you."

"They're really all right, though."

"Even better. You won't even have to lie." They both grin.

"I could even have them over during holidays."

"Mother will be thrilled," Sirius agrees. "Father might even approve."

"Do you find classes boring, too?"

"Do I _ever_. I wish I could tell you it gets better, more interesting later on… but it won't."

"But the homework, it's _inane_. The essays. They just _love_ essays here, don't they. I just had to write three feet on the uses of Mandrake Root where I could just have given them a list," Regulus complains, and Sirius looks earnestly amused.

"Yeah, I still haven't found a way around that particular activity, but don't worry about it. Just do it and throw some deliberate errors in there so they'll think you're actually learning something," Sirius advises. "And since you know it all already, use your free time to have _fun_ , Reg. Get in trouble. Live a little. Laugh more."

"Like you, you mean?" Regulus asks, gives Sirius' midriff a pointed look. "What would that bring?"

"You'd start liking it here."

"It's that obvious?"

"You're basically screaming 'I want to go back home to my gargoyle relatives'," says Sirius, and there's that gentle tone again. "Hogwarts is _brilliant_ , Reggie Veggie. Just stop focusing on the bloody curriculum and try anything and everything that strikes your fancy. You're free here, use that freedom. That's what you're here to learn."

"Like pranks?"

"Wouldn't that be wicked?" Sirius asks dreamily. "We could have ourselves an inter-House prank war at _last_."

"What's _that_ going to accomplish, now?"

"I wouldn't be the only guilty Black in school anymore. Think about it. I know you want to do it."

Regulus gives Sirius a look that tells him clearly he can keep on dreaming.

"May I tell Mother it was a dog?"

"No, you may not," Sirius answers placidly. "Let them find out the hard way. Let them celebrate a little."

"And then crush their hopes when they're faced with the ugly truth of having to put up with you, after all?"

"Oh, _yes_. That'll do nicely." Sirius grins at his brother, who just shakes his head and gets to his feet. He places a bar of Honeydukes Best on Sirius' bedside table without another word. It's something Sirius has done often as well, and only now does Remus realise the gesture says something Regulus can't put into words: " _Get well. I care. I worry_."

Regulus leaves quietly next, and Remus slides his curtains open with a flick of his wand the second they're alone in the Hospital Wing.

"A _dog_ , eh?" He wants to be reproachful, but somehow, the words stick in his throat.

"Same genus, different subspecies. It's easy to confuse the two." Sirius turns his head, grins all the wider. "A magnificent, unparallelled, _unrivalled_ specimen of canis lupus familiaris."

"We both know it was me. And you _will_ turn, Sirius, what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"Och. Unwind your underpants, Lupin."

"But I _bit_ you," Remus hisses. And _there_ , he is getting angry, after all.

"Yes, you _did_ , you _bastard,_ " Sirius shoots back. "Why do you think I nearly tore your bloody arse off?" Sirius is hissing now, doing that annoying thing he loves so much and mimicking Remus' tone and expression to a tee.

It clicks at last: somehow, every injury he's got _wasn't_ self-inflicted this time, that's why he's been hurting from places he's never hurt before… because the wolf couldn't reach. But how…?

He can't remember.

"My _arse_ …?" he asks, he can't _remember_ , and it's maddening.

"One bite was all it took, you furry tosser, and I _swear_ , if you bite me again, I'll—"

"One bite, yeah." Remus points at Sirius' side. "You'll _turn_ —"

"I _won't_ , don't be _stupid_." Sirius stares at him in exasperation, like _he's_ the idiot now. Remus maybe shouldn't feel affronted, but he is. "You sound _exactly_ like Pomfrey," Sirius snaps. " _And_ Googles. _And_ bloody _James_. Honest, they're all on my nerves already so don't _you_ jump on that broomstick too." He shakes his head, earnestly frustrated.

" _I'm_ being stupid, now?" Remus argues back furiously. "Should I remind you it was _you_ who went to the—"

"Werewolf drool becomes harmless after like, an _hour_ if left untouched," Sirius says after a moment, like it should be common knowledge, as if he's explaining the precession of equinoxes to Peter for the hundredth time and heartily sick of the subject. "The virus dies for lack of something to turn, and turning _only_ happens if you bite a _human_. And _you_ , _Remus_ fucking _Lupin_ — _You_ bloody bit me ten minutes into the damned moon and I wasn't even _me_ then."

Remus stares. Blinks. Stares some more.

"How do you _know_ that?" he breathes.

"What, you think you're the only one who can _read_?" Sirius sits up a bit straighter, turns to look at Remus, finds something there he finds amusing. "Ha, fancy that. You _really_ , _honestly_ think I went in half-cocked, don't you?" he asks, a fascinated sort of grin on his face, like he can't believe how Remus fell for a beginner's joke. "Glad to know you think so highly of me, Moony."

 _Moony_? Remus frowns at the name, but files it away for later.

"I… I don't—"

"You _clearly_ don't," Sirius agrees with a sigh, then leans back against his headboard, takes the scroll Launcelot offers him. He skims the note, rolls his eyes and crumples it up. The look he shoots at Remus is disappointed. "None of you do."

"What _are_ you?"

"I'm a wizard, Remus."

Remus gives him an unimpressed look, so he elaborates, "I can tell you I'm not a vampire, _or_ a werewolf. Aunt Elladora has called me a beast for years, but somehow I don't think I am that, either."

"No, I mean— _what_ are you?"

"You have one bloody teaching you Transfiguration, and still you have to _ask_?" And there is that look again, as though Sirius can't believe what he's hearing. "I thought I ripped your arse off, not your bloody pre-frontal cortex."

" _Animagus_?" Remus breathes, aghast. So the black dog _hadn't_ been his imagination playing tricks. Sirius gives him a look, as if to say, _"finally_ he gets it."

"The most magnificent, most breathtakingly majestic _canine_ you'll ever see in your life." And doesn't he sound _smug_ about it. "That's yourself included, as a matter of course. You're nothing to boast about, really."

"But… but that's supposed to be nearly impossible."

" _Nearly_ being the operative word." Sirius smirks again, almost indecently proud of himself. Remus decides, past his renewed shock, he has every right to be. There hasn't been a kid Animagus, like, _ever_ in history.

"When did you manage?"

"About half an hour before the Moon. Had to send Peter to stall you. Wanted it to be a surprise." Sirius lets out a laugh. "Maybe I should have sent word beforehand, but I don't know if it would've made a difference. You," he adds pointedly, "are overly possessive of your little shack. And strangely protective of the pissing spots."

Remus is at a loss for words. He gapes at Sirius, who takes the chocolate Regulus left and snaps the bar in half, tosses one piece over. He catches it automatically, frowning deeply again as memories surface — a dog, padding up the stairs, making him give chase, prompting him to look for hidden morsels…

"You… hid meat around the house?"

"Yeah, I figured we'd need entertainment. That's why Pete was stalling you," Sirius answers. "Two days don't exactly fly by in there."

"How long did it take you to—"

"Hide the meat? About twenty minutes and change."

"No, I meant— the other thing."

"Oh, that. I found out you wouldn't be a danger to animals after Christmas, in First Year. Well, closer to New Year's. I did enjoy my holidays first."

"That's almost… two _years_?" How did he not know? How did Sirius manage? Remus racks his throbbing brain, but he can't recall _ever_ seeing Sirius with a book titled ' _How To Turn Into An Animagus In Ten Easy Steps_ '.

In fact, he can't recall Sirius ever practising for it, just like he can't recall him practising for _anything_ , he basically acts like he's at a bloody resort rather than school all the time, like he's here just to play games and have fun and if he learns anything it'll be by sheer accident, and didn't McGonagall tell them it's a very taxing thing to achieve, and dangerous, and _impossibly_ difficult even if you have the theory down, and that only true Transfiguration Masters can pull it off?

And… Why would Sirius, who always goes out of his way to get out of doing _any_ kind of class work, do this at all?

"How did you do it?"

"There was a lot of reading involved," Sirius confides.

"You get bored with anything that takes longer than five minutes," Remus says in a low voice.

"No," Sirius corrects. "I get bored with _boring_ things. This wasn't it. Well, no. It _was_ , at first. Mind numbing like you've never seen," he admits. "But over last year and in the Summer, it got _loads_ more interesting."

"Hoo!" Launcelot agrees. Sirius laughs… and is he laughing at the owl's _comment_?

"Oh yes, I wouldn't ever forget you," Sirius agrees with the bird, who is still giving Remus a reproachful look. "Launcelot has been invaluable to the process."

Maybe Sirius _is_ insane.

"I can see you're quite inseparable."

"He keeps me from accidentally turning."

"What?"

"Well," Sirius says, "You know when he randomly hoots and flutters around and steals inkwells and quills and flaps at people?"

"Yeah." Remus has been suffering through the owl's antics for over a month, he doesn't need the reminder. Hardly a class goes by without the damn thing acting up.

"Every time I've accidentally grown a tail, or paws, or the sort."

"Really?"

"It's really hard to control," Sirius assures him. "It's kind of a given, there's this animal inside you that just wants— needs — out, but it's not quite ready yet, so you'll sneeze and end up with ears, or, anything that appeals to the animal can make you change. And there are so many scents around, you wouldn't _believe_ — well, _you_ do, don't you. Like this once, I sprouted fangs while talking to Emmeline, you know, that girl in Hufflepuff, the one who's—"

"She's the one spreading the rumour you're a vampire," Remus can't believe what he's hearing, but it adds up. It _all_ adds up, and what's worse, it makes sense.

"Ha ha, yeah," Sirius chortles, popping a bit of chocolate into his mouth with relish. "That was a close call. Something tells me this one's going to stick for a while."

"But… _Why_?" Why would Sirius even _do_ this? Remus has come to realise that there's loads more to Sirius Black than even he knew, and he _lives_ with him. How much has he missed here, really?

Sirius looks at Remus like he's just dribbled on his shirt. He shakes his head, decides it's time to focus on finishing his chocolate and lie down. Remus stares at him, waiting for an answer.

Sirius gives Remus a sideways glance.

"You're welcome, Moony," he says, tosses the crumpled-up chocolate wrapper at his head and misses by about a mile. A moment later he's asleep, a very self-satisfied expression on his face.

Remus takes a bite of his chocolate. He's too confused for words. He's so confused, in fact, he can't even feel relieved because Sirius isn't actually going to get turned over to the Ministry's killing squad at all, because he's not a werewolf. He's something else entirely, something different, something more than a monster.

Something better than just a friend.

.

* * *

.

True to her word, Pomfrey lets Remus out of the Hospital Wing long before dinner on Saturday. As always, James and Peter are outside waiting for him.

"You never told me he was a dog," Remus says for a greeting. James peels himself off the wall, shrugs one shoulder.

"We didn't know what he was," he admits quietly. "We knew he was something large and furry, with fangs, but nothing else. Not until he turned for the first time, and then he just… bolted off to the Willow. By the time I caught up, you were already inside."

Remus bites his lip.

"How is he?" asks Peter in a small voice.

"He'll be fine," Remus answers. "He's just bored. Says to send him his Muggle wireless and more candy."

"Did you really—"

"I did… Or, I must have. I can't remember, James. Usually the whole Moon is a blank, and now… I get these flashes, but they're… disconnected, somehow. Nothing makes sense."

"Do you think he'll turn?" James asks next, as they start making their way to the Common Room together.

"He says he won't. Sounds pretty certain."

That seems to be good enough for James, too. Remus wonders if he's the only sane one here, or if he's the insane one of the lot. When did they _all_ start listening to Sirius? _Really_?

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," says James. "Will Poops let you bring him things? She won't let us in, for fear he's contagious. There's talk of not letting him out among the students, even. It's ridiculous."

.

* * *

.

To everyone's astonishment (except for Sirius himself), time moves on and Sirius _doesn't_ seem to be turning into a werewolf. Nobody seems to be more disappointed than the Slytherins, whose looks become increasingly venomous as days turn into weeks and Sirius fails to give any indication of change whatsoever.

Well, Remus amends as he makes his way to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast, there isn't any indication of him changing more than he already has.

Sirius was given a — temporary — clean bill of health the following Monday, after Dumbledore visited him and called in a bunch of St. Mungo's Healers who claimed there wasn't an ounce of werewolf virus in his system, but despite all that, he still has to sleep in the Hospital Wing Contagion Room.

By Halloween, he is heartily sick of having to get daily check-ups from St. Mungo's specialists, getting suspended from class (at the request of a handful of concerned parents), and being banned from the Great Hall, the Quidditch Pitch, the Halloween Feast, and even the first Hogsmeade Weekend. Somehow, it doesn't make his good mood flag at all, and though he's bored, Sirius is enjoying himself immensely. There is honestly nothing wrong with him, and as the moon wanes and waxes without any kind of change, Remus finally believes him.

So does the Nurse, who seems to have warmed up to Sirius since his parents' visit. She has also become surprisingly lax with her own rules: She allows them to visit and doesn't seem to mind if Sirius leaves for hours every day as long as he shows up for meals, which is the only upside of the whole thing. As she told them all in no uncertain terms, Sirius isn't ill, this whole thing has been blown out of proportion, and she apologised so profusely for having a hand in it, Sirius was in stitches by the end of it… and so was she.

Pomfrey doesn't even check up on him at night, which James claims is good, because the Slytherins will get skunked when they return to their Common Room after the Halloween Feast this year, and they need Sirius to show them the way to the place and help with the Stink Charms and Triggering Spells.

.

* * *

.

Where he was doing his damnedest to avoid Sirius before and loathed the unruly owl that always accompanies him, now Remus understands what's going on — and his feral side doesn't feel the need to bite Sirius again, probably because he _did_ rip him to bits… and probably even ate the chunk he tore out.

And now, he spends more time around Sirius than even James. He has also come to discover, over the past couple of weeks, that Sirius' smell has morphed yet again whenever it reaches his nostrils. Now, without fail, it says _pack_ to the wolf, _equal_.

Despite the fact he doesn't trust the wolf at all, Remus finds this is a welcome change.

Maybe the fact he is starting to remember some things has something to do with it, too.

.

* * *

.

"Show me."

He'd asked Sirius the instant he was allowed out from the Hospital Wing, and Sirius, who had really, _really_ wanted to go outside — for _"walkies"_ , of all things — had humoured him. The four of them had piled into a disused classroom on the Fifth Floor, convenient only because the Founders, in their unending wisdom, had forgotten to put any windows in it, and Sirius had transformed into a very large bearlike black dog before James had even finished casting a ball of light to illuminate the place.

Sirius had graciously allowed Remus to sniff him from tail to nose, which made James and Pete fall about laughing… And then, he'd then returned the favour, and sniffed all of them, burying his nose everywhere he felt like burying it and making them all yelp and jump more than once… and then he'd marked the room as his own, with unmistakable satisfaction, tail wagging and happier, more excited than Remus had ever seen him.

The way they all saw it, he had every reason to be. The Dog, as they call him, is truly brilliant.

Remus started to remember then, and he's still randomly remembering things today.

And his journal has started to fill out accordingly.

It's glimpses, mostly, of old moons in his cage at home, a few of the Shack where the wolf was alone and ripping itself to shreds for lack of a better thing to do… but there are also recent memories: One where he's looking for something he can't find, where he's trying to scent out someone who is calling to him, talking to him. When he first recalled it, Remus was sure he was going insane.

Turns out, it wasn't his imagination. Those memories are from the first Moon in September.

He knows now what Sirius did; how he kept Remus from biting himself, by keeping the wolf busy looking for him — first he'd gone to the Shack on his broomstick, found the chinks in the wards, and talked to him and called for him from outside and kept him busy that way. Then, when he noticed the failing shield on the main bay window, he'd switched to the tunnel entrance and talked to the wolf until it curled up by the roots and fell asleep.

"I had to leave before moonset," Sirius told him when Remus asked. "It was light out, and Poops was on her way, she got there early. That's when you went wild. It worked out brilliantly before she ruined it all."

"What gave you the idea?" Remus asks then, but Sirius just shrugs and changes the subject. He either doesn't know, or doesn't want to tell. Remus doesn't know which it is.

Mostly, he finds it's easier to remember things when Sirius is around; he's managed to recall that epic fight they had, parts of it anyway, and also how after licking their respective wounds, they spent most of the Moon looking for hidden bits of meat and _then_ had another fight over the largest bone. And despite the bloody business it had been, Remus has to admit the wolf had had fun for the first time in its life… and so had he.

Also, he's admittedly fascinated by the fact Sirius is a _dog_ at all (and he's truly magnificent, but Remus won't ever tell him that, his head is big enough already).

He's also found out James and Sirius weren't practising for Quidditch all those afternoons. Most days, James is Merlin-knows-where and Sirius roams the Forest, nose working its way through uncharted territory to find the damnedest things — a Centaur colony, a clearing where Unicorns love to graze in the evening, trollshaws with an actual troll in them. There's no shortage of interesting smells, and Remus, who has spent over half his life fighting against the enticing pull of his nose, begins to discover a different side to what he's always thought of as a terrible disease, when he starts picking Sirius up from the Hospital Wing after class and going out for what his grey-eyed friend calls "walkies".

Sirius never thought of Remus' condition as an actual illness, though, and his take on it is making the whole thing more bearable, even enjoyable. Remus never before indulged his instincts, he's been afraid to, but Sirius is nothing if not contagious, and _he_ enjoys every second of his animal urges, wants to test them, see what he can do, how far he can take them, use them, relish them. He can't control it very well yet — hence all their trips to the Forest where they won't be seen — and Remus has begun to get used to the unpredictability of it all. He'll be talking to Sirius about whatever, and suddenly a dog the size of a Shetland pony will have taken his place and tear off after a hare, or a squirrel, or something else interesting.

It's funny, Remus muses. He's usually quickly frustrated by childish behaviour, but Sirius is so earnestly, so innocently excited it's bloody impossible to get mad at him.

Still he frets; while the wolf is getting an outlet it had never had before, he fears too much freedom will make it harder to control. He doesn't want to bite Sirius again, and he worries he just might.

"Don't worry, Moony," Sirius tells him, as if he can read his mind now, too. "We'll figure it out. Together." Then he turns into that huge dog and bounds into the thicket, and Remus can't fret because he's so busy trying to catch up.

.

* * *

.

The day after Halloween, James' birthday is marked by a raucous party in the Gryffindor Common Room — and, to the general hilarity of the student population, the sorry state of the aptly-renamed Stinkerin House. Sirius' party, the very next day, is a positively quiet affair in comparison. Just the four of them, for a bit after dinner. They all enjoyed the second one best.

Then Bonfire Night strolls around and brings about yet another change.

Sirius' parents seem to have caught on to the fact their eldest won't be turning into a wolf anytime soon, and Remus, who has a free period and decides to go look in on Sirius, finds him fuming in dress robes and wrestling angrily with a green-and-silver tie that's probably worth more than Remus' entire wardrobe.

"I bet it was Regulus," he mutters furiously, Launcelot's claws digging into his shoulder to keep him from sprouting fangs in his anger. "He can't ever bloody _lie_ to her, and I'm sure she bloody went and — _gah_. See you in a couple of days."

A nasty-looking elf arrives moments later to pick him up, and Sirius is gone with a _bang_ before he can say anything in return.

When a very worried Remus tells James about it during lunch, James already seems to know. He doesn't say anything, though, just glowers at his leek salad and then at the world for the next few days. Whatever James knows, he won't share it with anyone, and a part of Remus envies him for it, for knowing what he can only guess at, for being privy to something Sirius never mentions and probably never will, because nobody knows Sirius as James does, and that's something Remus wishes he could say too.

Sirius returns four days later on Moon Eve, and it's September the First all over again. Gone is his good mood, and the eternally long bath makes its reappearance. The scent of him, Remus notes, is one of barely-suppressed anger, and the wolf interprets it as _challenge predator alpha kill_ again.

And, he finds, it is something he can fully relate to. Pain and anger wanting out is something Remus understands plenty.

Sirius is _good_ at bottling it up, however. He emerges from his long bath, receives a package from James right before dinner, and the wolf is more interested in the smell of raw meat than in killing the dog.

"Pomfrey will see," Remus warns. Now is not the time for indulging in animal cravings. Not tonight, or tomorrow, the place will be crawling with Healers to see if Sirius will indeed turn.

"Pomfrey is busy treating Snivellus for reversed knees," Sirius informs, looking at an imaginary watch. "Or she will be, in about… oh, right now."

Despite himself, Remus listens hard.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Second Year Rebecca Bode yells as if on cue, "Come quick! There's been a fight in the hallways, and Snape got—"

The girl's voice trails off, Nurse in tow.

"You've got it all planned out, don't you?" asks Remus dryly.

"I hate being watched while I eat. Now, let's get to it. We won't have long." Sirius unwraps the parcel, and Remus can't hide his interest.

"What's that?"

"Mutton shanks," says Sirius. "Again, there's two. One is _yours_ , one is _mine_. You need to learn to share, Moony."

"Don't call me that," Remus groans. "Really, don't."

"I'll call you whatever the hell I please," Sirius snaps, and it's so sudden, Remus is taken aback. "And if you bite me again, I _swear —_ I'll do much worse than call you names." For the first time, a threat from Sirius makes the wolf shrink back. It's hard not to; one glare from him makes him want to tuck his tail between his legs.

"Sorry."

Sirius takes a deep breath. He snorts, shakes it off.

"Nah, it's all right. I shouldn't have snapped. So, for tomorrow," he says in a much lighter tone, pushing a plate of mutton Remus' way and effectively redirecting his attention, "They'll wait until after moonrise to release me, so I won't be there when you turn."

"It's all right." Remus shakes his head, mouth already full to bursting. He's used to spending moons alone. Not looking forward, but used to.

"But I'll be there after. Just make sure—"

" _No_. Sirius, what the hell. I could escape, and—"

" _Just make sure_ you transform in the upstairs bedroom and spell the door shut," Sirius informs him. "I ought to make it there before you reduce the door to splinters."

.

* * *

.

Somehow, Remus has no clue how, Sirius is true to his word.

He transforms in the upstairs bedroom as instructed, and by the time he's managed to poke his head through what will end up as a wolf-sized hole in the door, the dog is there again. This time, the wolf has decided the dog is not trespassing anymore. It's welcome now, the other half of an evenly-matched pack.

The dog, though, greets him with hackles raised and fangs bared. It smells of pain, of pent-up rage and violence without an outlet, and that is something the wolf knows like the back of his claws…

This time, the dog _wants_ to fight, and the wolf is only too happy to oblige.

And this Moon, Remus _remembers_.

This Moon, for the first time, their roles reverse. The wolf holds back where the dog won't, because he understands at some level, it's what the dog needs. This time, he teaches the dog to howl at the moon after they're both exhausted. And this time, when he wakes up, wearing his underpants on his head and wrapped warmly in a blanket, Remus does so with a clean conscience… and only one good bite on his leg from when Sirius went wild.

At least he had the decency to put a bandage around it before he left.

By the time Madam Pomfrey arrives, Remus is getting dressed, feeling better than he ever has.

"I can't believe it," she tells him, and he half can't, either. "You're standing up _on your own_? What did you do?"

Remus smiles, and it's a true smile this time.

"I guess I'm finally settling in."

.

* * *

TBC. This has grown a bit, to tie in with Runaway, and there's a few key things I realised were missing in the original storyline, so it should end up as a six- or seven-parter.

I love feedback, so if you've made it this far, don't forget to drop a line!

 **Next up:** The December Moon comes with news, there's a (very welcome) character death that has rather nasty consequences, and Sirius develops a liking for jumping off high places and challenging trolls. James and Peter make themselves scarce almost every day, and Remus is (finally) intrigued. Also, the wolf has trouble with the whole sharing business, especially when it's a hare, doesn't grasp the concept of fetch, and has Fanged Frisbees for breakfast.


	4. Winter Moon: Death of Seasons

**Disclaimer** : I don't know if vultures *can*, actually, bow. So any misrepresentation is to be chalked up to magic.

* * *

 **In this Chapter** : Sirius isn't reacting too well to his return to class, Sirius has a death wish, but doesn't, but does, Remus and James have a talk, James and Sirius don't have a talk, the Dog is awesome at fetch, the wolf... not so much. And someone dies.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **Winter Moon: Death of Seasons**

.

* * *

.

November 11 is the first time Remus does not need to go to the Hospital Wing for days on end. In fact, it's the first time he is released in time for an early breakfast, like a _normal_ schoolboy on a _normal_ , moon-less Sunday.

His friends are already at the Great Hall when he arrives, all huddled together and looking like they're plotting the weekend's prank.

"We've got to take you to Poops." James sounds worried.

"Nah, it's only a scratch," says Sirius, cringing a bit as Launcelot begins to dance on his head when he spots Remus. "I washed it out before I turned back. Morning, Moony."

"How?" Peter wants to know, as he and James turn to look at Remus and give him welcoming grins, like it's just another normal day, and he appreciates them for it. "You don't even have opposing thumbs."

"I took a plunge in the Lake." Sirius gives James and Peter a smug sort of smirk, like he's so clever, and Remus is tempted to groan in unison with them both.

"It'll get infected!" James exclaims, making a grab for Sirius' left wrist and yanking his sleeve up. Sirius lets out a yelp and Remus grimaces. His forearm has four deep gouges on it, probably from his fangs. "The Lake isn't antiseptic!"

"Yeah, well it stung like it was. I'm not going back there today, she'll get suspicious," Sirius argues, extricating his mauled arm from James' grip and pulling his sleeve down before reaching for the sausages. "I mean, how many strays can I say bit me, _come on_."

"But—"

"It'll be okay," Sirius insists.

"We need to figure this out," James mutters, stirring his porridge. "You can't come back like this every month."

"Aww, you're a darling, you are, all pouty and concerned." Sirius looks anything but as he puts the final touches on his Full English, which features a veritable mountain of sausages in the centre, and he's drooling at it already. Remus hands him a napkin, sits down.

"Quidditch season starts in a few weeks, we have our first game against the Puffers two days before end of term, and I want you at the top of your game, Black."

"You're not the boss of me," Sirius retorts casually, wiping his mouth before reaching for some toast and buttering it. It's his little ritual, he has to have everything just _so_ before he begins to eat. Even uses a bread dish. "You're just another player, not bloody _Captain._ " As an afterthought, he adds, "At least, not yet."

"So?" James' eyes are flashing. " _Your job_ , might I remind you, is to keep me, that is, _all of me_ scoring, and you know Wood means well, but he's a shite Seeker, so the only way we'll win any games is if—"

"Yes, yes, I keep them off your back until you've outscored them all even if they get the Snitch," says Sirius in a bored monotone, and then he decides he needs some gravy and summons it to his hand before Caradoc can grab it.

"Precisely. You can't do that with a manky arm."

"Body armour?" Pete suggests. Sirius snorts, now pouring a liberal amount of gravy on top of his masterpiece.

"He can bite through that, easy. You can, can't you?" he turns to Remus expectantly.

"Yeah, probably," Remus shrugs. James whistles through his teeth.

"So, I thought, sick aunt?" Peter prompts with a grin.

"Trip with my dad," Remus corrects, smiling. "Got cancelled at the last minute," he grabs a sausage from Sirius' overflowing plate.

"Oy! Get your own, damn you," Sirius protests. "Honestly, Remus! _Every_ _time!_ "

"You've got to learn to share, Sirius." Remus gives him an insolent grin, chewing with relish, and decides he'll have fry-up too.

"Me?! You're the one sticking your filthy paws in my foo—"

"HOO! _HOO_! _HOOO_!" Launcelot interrupts, eyes wide as saucers, jumping up and down on Sirius' head to make him turn. Sirius looks up, and as Remus whips around, he can see it too: an enormous owl is circling the Great Hall, a large, fat, very red envelope in its claws.

"You know what? You can have it, I'm not hungry," Sirius mutters, shoves his plate towards Remus. He leaps to his feet, grabs the bright red letter in midair. The next moment he's tearing out of the Great Hall like someone just brought him a cow, amid the jeering and cat-calls from the Slytherins, led by Bellatrix and Narcissa.

Remus doesn't stop to give James and Peter more than a glance — they look as shocked as he feels — and hurries out after him.

Only, by the time he's reached the Entrance Hall, there's no sign of Sirius at all. Not that it will stop Remus. He puts the tracking skills Sirius helped him acquire to good use and follows the smell — _dread, alarm, hurry, hurry, hurry_ — down a corridor, up countless flights of stairs, through a handful of passages, all the way to the tallest Astronomy Tower.

He knows he's found him when he hears Launcelot, still hooting and screeching loudly. The thing is damn-near hysterical.

"HOO! _HOO_! HOO!"

He yanks open the door to the observation deck, bursts outside — but at first, the only thing he sees is the owl glaring at him from its perch on one of the gargoyles, like he's somehow to blame for this.

A blast of hot, tangible _anger_ bursts forth somewhere to his right, an impossibly loud shriek of, "YOU ABSOLUTE LITTLE _SHIT_ —" makes him give a jump, and Remus whips around even as the magnified voice of Sirius' mother cuts off. Sirius is staring at the floating letter, wand in hand, inside what he assumes is a Privacy Charm of some sort. Remus hurries to approach the transparent, shimmering bubble Sirius has encased half the observation deck in — and realises his mistake only when Sirius' spell throws him ten feet in the air and he's come to a halt against the wall.

"Hoo, hoo, hoo," and even he can't pretend he didn't notice the damned owl is laughing at him.

"Shut up, you." Remus' eyes are fixed on Sirius, who has fallen to his knees, hands pressed against his ears, robes flapping around his thin frame in a nonexistent wind. There is nothing doing, except wait for it to be over.

Only, it takes bloody ages to burn. He watches as the Howler bursts into flame, momentarily bringing out the deathly pallor in Sirius' face. He looks shell-shocked as he leans back against the wall, a cloud of ash raining on him. For a few long moments, he just sits there as if stunned.

Remus tries to reach his side, but whatever ward Sirius threw up, it feels like it's turned the very air into rubber, and he doesn't get very far before he's being thrown backwards again.

"Sirius!" Remus calls, but there's no indication Sirius can even hear him. His eyes are fixed on a spot between his feet, a thin trickle of blood flowing from his right ear, chest heaving. None of Remus' spells so much as dent the ward, none of his calls go answered, and he's wondering whether to get James, whose spellwork might actually do something to this thing, because Sirius is—

Sirius is staggering to his feet, but he looks dizzy and unsteady as he leans against the hewn stone railing to stare out at the Lake and the grounds. Maybe he just needs to catch his breath, but Remus wishes he'd just bloody turn, turn around, or at least cancel this bloody spell that looks like he's encased in a weird kind of snowglobe, Howler ashes sort of hanging in the air, settling slowly on the floor.

"Sirius!" Remus yells again, tries to catch his attention, but Sirius has his back to him… and he looks otherwise occupied now, to judge by how he's suddenly standing on top of the stone railing. It's not the first time Remus has seen him up there, but now it's different.

Now he's dazedly swaying in place, and it looks as though he's considering…

 _No—_

But he _is_. Right now, Sirius looks like he wants to jump.

"Sirius _don't_!" Remus shouts, but trying to get to him is like wading through jelly. He'll never manage in time—

Sirius is staring down, as though looking for something at the base of the tower, even as Remus jabs his wand into the spell, desperate to break through. It dissolves so abruptly, Remus stumbles over his feet the same instant Sirius leans forward — just a bit, but it's already too far. He pitches down headfirst, and all Remus can see for an instant is the slow, almost reluctant way in which the soles of Sirius' shoes detach from the edge.

Remus rushes to the railing, where he can see Sirius fall, and fall, and _fall_ … there's a faint splash, a white upsurge of foam where he's hit the icy water.

Remus can't breathe, doesn't know what to do— and moments later Sirius surfaces again, floats up and out of the water, held aloft by an invisible something… and it's barely audible past the rush in Remus' ears, but he can hear Sirius' laughter, great echoing guffaws in between choking gasps for breath.

There's a figure at the shore nearest Sirius, and Remus has to squint to make out who it is.

 _Oh_.

It's James levitating Sirius to the shore, and Remus wishes he could take the express route but instead he hurries the long way round, as fast as his feet will carry him, knocking into walls and stumbling down what feels like a myriad passages to get out of the castle.

James is by the beech tree, kneeling by Sirius' side, by the time Remus skids to a halt. Sirius is still wheezing like he's lost it, lying on his side, and James is lifting the back of his robes to peek underneath, his expression grim.

 _"_ _James_?" Remus gasps, completely winded.

" _Shush_ ," James says sharply, gives Remus a warning look, a tiny headshake.

Remus supports himself on his knees, tries to catch his breath even as Sirius' sniggering tapers off and finally stills.

"We have to get him to— to Pomfrey."

"No. Leave him. Let him just wake up on his own."

"What the hexing hell, James? He just —" Remus gesticulates wildly towards the tower, still in disbelief.

"Yeah, he just." James shakes his head, _chuckling_ of all things, as though Sirius just pulled off a stunt that was _awesome_ and lived to tell the tale.

"He's bloody _insane_ , James! _This isn't funny_!"

"Nah, he's all right," James counters. Dries Sirius off, puts a Warming Charm on top, like nothing's wrong, like batty best friends always randomly throw themselves headfirst off the bloody battlements first thing in the morning. Remus peers in on Sirius. If he didn't know better, he'd say he is just fast asleep. He looks the part, too, except for a slight twitch in his right hand's fingers.

"This is _not_ all right, James," says Remus fervently. "He jumped off the bloody Astronomy Tower. He's suicidal, don't you get it? He wants to _die_."

"No, he _doesn't_ ," James counters, like it's such an impossible notion, pillowing Sirius' head on his lap now, checking him over for injuries with strangely practised movements. "Are you suggesting he wants to off himself over a Howler? He gets at least one every other week."

"The _tower_ , Potter. He jumped off a _bloody tower_."

"You said that before. I'm not blind. I saw."

"He's got a fucking death wish."

"No, Remus," James insists, and he's suddenly serious. " _When_ he gets the death wish, believe me, you'll know. And we'll worry then. This is just not that time."

Maybe it's the matter-of-fact tone James is using, or the distinct sensation that it's not the first time Sirius has done something like this, or that it's clearly something James has given a lot of thought to, but Remus doesn't have a response.

Remus just flops down on the grass next to James, stunned and turned around and feeling not a little betrayed. Why doesn't he know this? It's like Sirius is a complete stranger sometimes, someone he barely knows. After two years and more, he _should_ know these things. Why doesn't he?

"We ought to get him to Pomfrey, though."

"He doesn't want to go, Lupin, give him a break. He just spent one bloody month in there, it's the last place he wants to see just now."

"But…"

"Trust me, he's okay. He's just really…" James trails off, settles for, " _tired_. He does foolish things when he's really, y'know. Tired."

"So, he's tired a lot, you mean."

"Yeah, there's that."

The silence stretches, uncomfortably heavy and all-consuming. The only sound is the cold breeze blowing, Sirius' irregular breathing. James isn't idle, though. He pulls up Sirius' sleeve, examines the deep fang marks on it… casts a cleaning charm, conjures a bandage.

"How did you know to come here?" Remus asks.

"I just did."

"Does he do this often?"

James laughs, shakes his head.

"No. Not often at all. He'd never done the tower, either, but I get the sense he enjoyed it rather too much." And if James doesn't sound like he wants to try jumping off it now, Remus will eat his wizard's hat. He's as much a thrill-seeking nutter as Sirius is.

"His parents came by, after the Moon," Remus hears himself say. He hasn't told anyone, not even Sirius, but part of him can't stop thinking about it. He feels like he's betraying some big secret, touching on something that's taboo, but it needs out, too.

"I know," James says quietly, his eyes fixed on Sirius, arms wrapped around him protectively.

"He _told_ you?"

"He doesn't need to tell me anything. I just know."

"How?"

"Some would call it magic."

Remus groans in frustration.

"If you don't want to tell me, that's fine," he mutters, and why is he so bitter about it? James and Sirius have been inseparable since way before Hogwarts, he ought to be used to this, this _rubbing it in_ that seems to happen so often of late, used to feeling he's somehow left out. "Just don't bloody patronise me."

"I'm not lying, unbunch your bloomers," James retorts. "It's literally magic. We did a spell. I always know what's up with him. He always knows what's up with me, that's the gist of it."

"So, when he went home—"

"That _place_ isn't home. He hates it there, Remus, it's a pit of hell. I think you're ready — I think you _need_ — to understand that now." James looks him in the eye, and he looks jaded, every bit as tired as he claimed Sirius to be. Remus swallows.

"He wanted to fight, last night. He was just so… _angry_." While the wolf had instinctively understood why, Remus still can't — won't — put his finger on it.

"I know," is James' maddening answer. "He's not mad at you. It's just… in general, it's everything, you understand that, don't you?" Remus hadn't, he's not sure he fully understands it now. He's not always around, and usually too busy catching up on what he missed by way of coursework to realise he's missed a lot by way of his friends' lives, too.

"His father—"

"His father," James confirms grimly, cutting him off. "That bitch who calls herself his mother. The whole bloody lot of them and their million rules that are impossible to keep up with. Sometimes it's just too much."

"Do they do that a lot?" Remus doesn't need to specify what he's referring to.

"No, not really, thank the gods," James answers after a moment's thought. "I've caught glimpses, but only once or twice. It was worst right after the Sorting, he really caught hell for it. But even if they don't— they're strict as anything. They have rules for every little thing, they don't bloody let him _breathe_ without permission on a good day, it drives him up the wall. And when they go hands-on for whatever reason… it's usually bad." He bites his lip, looks down, and Remus does the same.

"When he came back, he said he had a row with his father," James says next, quietly. "That was what that Howler was all about, he got one yesterday too, he'll probably get one every day until they get whatever they want from him. They're quite on the warpath now." He waves his wand at the droplets of blood pooling out from Sirius' ear, vanishes them. "Getting too loud."

"What _would_ they want from him? They were going to have the Ministry _put him down_ , James."

"Yeah." It's almost soundless, and Remus realises just then James has been worrying, has been struggling too. "Imagine the shame, a _werewolf_ as heir to the Black throne. No offence."

"None taken."

"I get the sense they want a formal apology for upsetting the applecart, but it wasn't Sirius' doing, was it, it was all them, so they're not getting shite, and he's not about to budge. It'll just escalate and there's not one thing anyone can do about it."

"Shouldn't _we_ do something, though?" It's not like James to not take action.

"That would be a dream come true, to tell that utter twat Orion fucking Black what I think of him," mutters James bitterly, then shakes his head. "But we can't, that bastard would pull Sirius out of school, and he'd be truly fucked then."

"How do you know that for sure?" Remus presses on. There has to be something they can do, right?

"Sirius told me. It's this… deal he cut in First Year, so he can stay here at all. Top marks, no getting into trouble that reflects too badly on them. No bad behaviour in front of reporters, attending those events they love so much, behaving himself when he's out in public with them, toeing whatever line they draw for him, that sort of thing."

"We're talking about _him_ , yeah?" Remus gestures at Sirius, and James chuckles despite himself. "He doesn't feel his week is complete unless he's gotten at least one detention before Friday."

"I never said he was _good_ at toeing the line, and honestly Remus, usually it's like they don't give a care what he does or doesn't do," James points out. "But that thing with St. Mungo's… that was a major breach of the agreement."

Remus stays silent.

"He usually has a whole year before he sees them again in the Summer, and he spends most of the time in his room unless there's some engagement," James goes on softly. "They rarely ever want him, do they, definitely _never_ so soon after start of term. And it's been twice already, and that last one— he caught hell for it, they only let him return because pulling him from school would create more gossip, a bigger spotlight on them. You can't expect him to just shrug it off."

"Why are you telling me this?" Moreover, why is James telling him this _now_?

"Because," James says, "because you need to understand what he's risking and why. Because he's your friend, too."

"How can you say he's okay, then? He's clearly not," and nothing James has said so far suggests anything to the contrary.

"This is," says James slowly, very clearly, "the best I've seen him since before the Sorting. Forget about his family for a minute. He's _happy_ , Remus, he really is."

"The Dog?"

James shakes his head, smiling a little. He looks at Sirius, who is wincing in his sleep, does something with his fingers in midair, places a hand on his forehead, and Sirius falls asleep again.

"The Dog is part of it," James explains, "and how couldn't it, it's _brilliant_ and he's worked his arse off for it and loves it to bits. But the real reason he's happy is because you're better, because for _once_ you're not covered in bandages the day after a Moon, or stuck with Poops all week, or barely able to stand. You're out here, with us. Where you belong." Remus is at a loss for words. A moment later, he is also very, very touched.

James chuckles.

"Don't look at me like that, mate, it's creepy. But you need to understand," James adds pregnantly, "he doesn't care what it takes, if you bite him or scratch the hell out of him, or if those bloody bastards are pissed because you bit him and it made them look bad in the Prophet when the story got out. He'll _still_ be there every Moon, Remus, no matter what, and he won't ever tell you why, so I'm doing it for him: It _kills_ him when you're not alright. It kills _all of us_. So let him have this, Lupin, let _us…_ all of us, _have this_. Let him be there for you and be happy because he finally _can_ , because it's worth it to us all. He needs it too, more than you'd think, to feel he's doing something that's worth it, because in _their_ eyes he's a fuck-up, a waste of space, nothing more."

"Let him do _this_ , too?" Remus mutters, gestures at Sirius, shakes his head. "I still think he wants to kill himself."

"Trust me," says James. "And trust him, at least a little. He really, really _doesn't_. If he did, he'd pick a fool-proof method, he'd give us _zero_ warning, and nothing you or I or _anyone_ did could ever stop him. He's alive because he wants to be, and he'll live until he feels like it, not a second longer. And it's up to us to give him a reason to stick around." Yes, James has definitely given this a lot of thought. "And the tower? That, Remus, is _nothing_. He just wants to feel alive, truly alive, sometimes."

"Whatever gave you _that_ idea?" If anything, it proves Remus' point.

James smirks without much humour.

"He picked a tower with water at the bottom, didn't he?"

.

* * *

.

"So, don't make a big deal out of it, yeah?"

That had been James' request. In addition to, "Don't tell Poops, whatever you do," and, "Don't pick his brain over this, he'll tell you if and when he's ready to," and Remus' favourite, "Don't hold your breath, Lupin. He probably won't, and it's not because he thinks any less of you. He just… won't," and the entirely utilitarian, "Why don't you go get us something to eat from the Kitchens?"

So Remus had made his way back to the castle, still shaken up and at a loss for what to do with all this information he'd just been given. By the time he returns with more food than he could eat even on Moon Eve and Peter (who is carrying half a wheel of cheese and a fresh loaf of bread), Sirius is awake again and he and James are lounging by the tree, talking animatedly and gesticulating with excitement.

"…spell to gather enough height, then the air-speed velocity will be _perfect_ to—"

"— see who can catch the broomstick _before_ he hits the water!" James finishes for Sirius, like he's just figured out something incredibly complicated. They look almost indecently eager to go try it, whatever "it" is this time. Remus suspects it starts with a "T" and ends in "ower", their new _thing_.

It's like nothing happened at all… or rather, now Remus is going over every time he's found James and Sirius like this, planning pranks and stunts and joking about the stupidest things, he realises — James is distracting Sirius, forcing him to think of something that's not what he's just woken up from, focusing his attention on the here and now.

And it works like a charm.

.

* * *

.

It also takes up the rest of their day, and Remus finds himself exhausted, not quite sure why they ended up touring the Shrieking Shack all afternoon — though he has to agree with Sirius it needs fixing, it's a bloody health hazard by now — or how they ended up raiding Slughorn's stores for a jug of essence of Dittany for Sirius' arm instead of just asking the Nurse for it. Or why they had to chase the Dog around the bloody forest for hours, just to get to apply it. His friends are that way, though. Why keep things straightforward when they can turn them into a death-defying adventure?

That night after a hot shower, Remus pads down to the Common Room rather late, wondering where his friends have disappeared off to again. The only one there is Sirius, who, as usual, left his Transfiguration essays for the last minute. Claimed he'd forgotten all about them, and they're due tomorrow.

How can he _not_ be tired, Remus wonders, if he wastes all day fooling around and leaves all the work for last? But Sirius isn't writing anything, he's just staring into the flames, his gold-tipped quill hovering over a blank scroll, and looking like he's quite forgotten what he meant to write.

"What are you thinking?" Remus asks, flopping down on the sofa next to him.

"I'm thinking the tower isn't high enough."

"Because you didn't break your neck upon impact?" Yeah, so James told him not to bring it up. Remus thinks James can kiss his furry rear if he doesn't like it.

Sirius laughs, and there's not a hint of embarrassment behind it.

"No, I just wanted to see what it feels like, to, y'know, jump."

"Did you satisfy your curiosity?"

"Oh, yes. But it would be better if it was at least… thirty feet higher up, to properly enjoy the trip down, maybe even fifty, or a hundred."

"It's plenty high enough," Remus counters. "You passed out for like, an hour, after."

"Best sleep I've had in months. You should try it," says Sirius, like he's offering him a bite of some exotic dish.

"Leaping off the Astronomy Tower?"

"Oh, aye. We'll go tomorrow after class. All of us."

"You're insane."

"Trust me, you'll _love_ it. It's really quite liberating."

And what do you know, Sirius isn't wrong about that last, as Remus finds out the next day.

.

* * *

.

"Get up, get up, get up!"

Remus groans into his pillow.

"We have alarm spells, you know," he mutters, glares blearily at James, who is, as usual, up at the crack of dawn and jumping on Sirius' bed to get him to Quidditch practice.

"Yeah, because such a spell _never_ fails to wake Sirius up," says James flippantly, turns his attention on Sirius again. "Up, up let's go! We're going to be late, come on!"

"Just get up, Black," Fabian yells in exasperation from the bathroom, where he's getting ready. Gideon snickers from behind the changing screen.

"Yeah, Black, let's go, it's a very balmy five degrees out, you won't notice the difference from your bed."

"Can't you all shut up?" and variations thereof begin to make themselves heard, as the other Gryffindor Third Years are yanked from their slumbers. "Get out of here."

"Gah, I'm up," mutters Sirius, banishes James from his bed mid-leap with a flick of his fingers, and as James curses loudly and picks himself up off the floor, Remus gives up on sleep, on the warmth of his own covers.

The usual start to the day, as it were.

November is drawing to a close, and never mind the "balmy" five degrees, Remus is sure Gideon was being sarcastic. The castle has become a freezer, the — comparatively warmer — grounds are perpetually covered in ice that only thaws around lunchtime for about an hour, and he can't believe James _likes_ training in the mornings.

Or maybe he's just keeping Sirius busy the only way he knows: by making him whack at things in midair for two hours before he gets to eat anything.

Remus isn't sure if it's helping, but in class, at least, Sirius has managed one full week without accidentally sprouting animal appendages, and even better — his owl has been behaving.

And yes, the thing is on his shoulder even when he's playing Quidditch, like a very loud, very flappy piece of furniture that glares disdainfully at Remus every chance it gets.

Remus is on Sirius detail between lunch and dinner, allegedly because James just basically vanishes with Peter under a variety of pretences, but Remus thinks it's mostly because he and Sirius explore the Forest then, and they could never in their wildest dreams catch up with them both.

They tried, once or twice, and even hard-headed James Potter had to admit defeat and leave the canines to it when he and Peter were left behind at once; in that regard, things have changed as well. The Dog doesn't yip or bound playfully around them like he's got springs attached to his paws anymore — the instant they've crossed into the forest, Sirius puts on his tail and speeds off into the thicket, and getting him to return (and turn back into his human self) has become a daily struggle.

Which is where Remus is hitting a plethora of snags.

Sirius might have gotten better at controlling the Dog during class, but he seems to have lost control over everything else since he came back from his parents': he botches up spells he'd mastered by First Year, confuses his classwork, mixes up assignments, loses his train of thought left, right, and centre, as though even his brain is scrambled up. He plays the class clown, or so their teachers think, but it's as though he can't focus to save his life, not unless he's got his fur on.

But when he does, he's literally a different beast, and Remus is beginning to worry in earnest, because it's so much harder to keep up with him now, even for him.

Hogwarts' food — and Sirius shovels it down as though there is an impending famine — is doing its job, and he is no longer a thin, pale, shrunken kid. He's filling out, already he's at least an inch taller, and thanks to all that exercise, he's quickly growing stronger, harder to wear out.

This means the Dog has also gotten loads _faster_. Remus has lost Sirius twice this week alone, and yesterday he had to forcibly yank him away from picking a fight with a paddock full of Hagrid's Hippogriffs on the way back.

And they say _he's_ got a furry problem? _Come on_. He might be a monster, but he's only _this_ unruly once a month. Sirius seems to be the opposite.

No matter what James says about his best friend, Sirius hasn't been all there since he came back, and over the past few weeks he's gotten steadily worse. He might be able to (barely, now) keep up pretences in his human form, but when he's the Dog, all that goes out the window. When they're exploring — and Remus can't chalk it up to instinct anymore — the Dog still smells of pent-up rage, of a deep-seated sort of anger, and it's looking for a fight every day.

How long until he finds it?

.

* * *

.

Remus gets his answer that very same afternoon: Three weeks, ten hours.

The moon has been waxing, and with it, Remus' energy levels have gone up as well. He still gets left behind not five minutes in, and has to pick his way across the thicket, following Sirius' scent that's been stuck at _rage violence bite raaaa_ for two weeks, and the Moon is beginning to get rounder, which means the wolf is already looking forward to the next fight, licking its jowls in anticipation and thinking the Dog really is a good sport.

Remus heartily disagrees.

Of course, the Daily Howler has something to do with it. It's as if his parents know what it does to Sirius, so they send one that arrives without fail, before he's even taken one bite of his breakfast, and every day, Sirius comes back to the Great Hall a little angrier, clenches his jaw a little tighter, muddles through classes a little less successfully. He snaps at people, gets into arguments with the Slytherins over every little thing, needles Bellatrix and Rodolphus and Rabastan and countless others into fierce duels in the hallways, to let off just enough steam to make it through the day. By lunchtime, he's only waiting for the clock to strike two, to get the chance to go dog and look for something large to hit, preferably something that will hit back.

Is it a wonder, then, when he eventually succeeds?

Confirmation comes in the form of a loud yelp that carries to Remus' sharp ears as he's just about to give up trying to find the Dog and wishing rather desperately for his favourite sofa in the Common Room. Where it's warm rather than muddy and wet and freezing cold, and best friend or not, he's starting to dislike this side of Sirius with vehemence.

Annoyance forgotten before the yelp has even died down, Remus follows sound rather than scent now — there's an unmistakable racket suggesting Sirius finally found what to hit, an earthshaking roar that confirms it, and when the smell of unwashed toilets hits his nose, Remus also knows what it is: a bloody mountain troll.

Of _course_ there had to be more than one in this bloody forest, so all of Remus' efforts to steer Sirius away from the trollshaws they'd found last month have been in vain. He knows this is what Sirius has been looking for, because the scent he's radiating now is filled with a fierce sort of excitement, it screams " _BRING IT_!" at the world. And the world seems to have decided to bring it, at last.

Remus hurtles deeper into the forest until he bursts out of a clearing, where he can just see the Dog fly past him in midair, slam into a tree. The next instant, it is charging at the furious troll again with a roar.

.

* * *

.

" _What the hell,_ Remus?" James erupts later that day, when he arrives late for dinner from wherever he's gone and finds out.

"Don't what-the-hell me, James." Remus mutters. His head is pounding something wonderful, and this is the first time he's gotten to sit down since lunch. He's smelly, muddy, and ultimately in a rotten mood. "It's not like I can keep up with him, I told you days ago, so don't give me that tripe. It's not like you can, either."

"A _troll_?" James is now sitting next to Remus, the words a barely-audible hiss. "You _let_ him get at a troll?"

"I didn't "let him" _anything_ , Potter. He did that all by himself. If anything, I got him _out of it_. You're welcome."

"I'm going to have a word," James decides, after just sitting there fuming for a bit. The next moment, he's walking briskly out of the Great Hall.

"Your funeral," mutters Remus, and picks at his food. The next moon will last two days again, and he is actually considering asking Sirius not to be there. If he carries on the way he is, broken ribs and a concussion will be the least of his problems.

.

* * *

.

Sirius is released from the Hospital Wing the next day after lunch.

Remus didn't go to see him this morning — he's still very cross at him — and James hadn't told him what his talk with their most insane friend had accomplished, but to judge by how he was glowering at everyone when he got to the Common Room, it had the predicted result.

Peter decided to make himself scarce all day, allegedly to brew some potions with Slughorn for an extra credit. Why Peter would need an extra credit at all, Remus doesn't know; he's already got an O+ in the subject, if anything he ought to do extra assignments for Charms. But Remus has other things on his mind, so he doesn't wonder about it beyond that.

He's decided he'll put his foot down and won't let Sirius accompany him this Moon, not until he gets his head on straight. It's the sensible thing to do, even if the thought is dreadful — the wolf _will_ be furious.

He and James finish their lunch in silence, make their way to the Hospital Wing in silence, stand around in the Hallway in silence…

It's not like them, is it.

"Do we worry now?" Remus asks, and it doesn't come out reproachful at all — he too, has acquired the same matter-of-fact tone James was using that other day.

"I don't know, Remus." This admission is costing James a lot, if there's anything he _hates_ , it is not knowing. Not knowing what to say, how to act, how to fix things. They're not so different, in that regard. "I guess we'll see."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No." And this is harder on James than anything. He sucks at diplomacy, doesn't he. Likes everything straightforward, laid out in the plainest English. Likes to know where he stands, so he can figure out what to do. "He wouldn't see me, kicked me out. Said to leave him alone."

And that sounds ominous. Remus turns to stare at James, a feeling of impending doom settling in his stomach. James and Sirius might argue a lot and pick on each other relentlessly, but they never — _ever_ — really fight. They're like bloody siamese twins, like-minded, energetic, supporting each other's most harebrained schemes, _never_ at odds.

Until now, and Remus' sense of stability is once again, sinking into quicksand.

He doesn't have time to ask James what he thinks will happen, the doors are already opening, and out comes Sirius. Remus didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this — Sirius is smiling like nothing is wrong with the world, that owl on his shoulder cooing affectionately in his ear.

"Alright?" Sirius asks them lightly, and it's impossible he missed the stares he's getting, but he ignores them for once.

"Feeling better, then?" James asks tensely. _Carefully_. It's surreal.

"Much," says Sirius, and then he claps James on the shoulder — which is the most contact he'll ever allow and a rarity at best. James' expression tells Remus he wasn't expecting this, either. "A good whack to the head, that's all I needed," he says, smiling all the wider. "You can even do the honours, next time." And _that_ is about as close as he ever gets to apologising for _anything_.

James and Remus stare at each other, mystified, but Sirius is already walking down the hallway, hands in his pockets and a skip to his step.

"Let's go to the Kitchens. I'm starving."

Remus doesn't tell Sirius not to join him for the Moon, after all.

In fact, Remus doesn't tell Sirius anything about what happened. Sirius doesn't touch on the subject, and as they're watching him stuff his face in the Kitchens, Remus knows James won't have that word, either.

Water under the bridge, as it were.

.

* * *

.

The weekend that marks one week before the Moon is a Hogsmeade Weekend, the first Sirius can actually attend, and they pound the village streets together, examine the Shrieking Shack and listen to the stories of the wild ghosts that gather there every month with undisguised amusement, they meet Madam Rosmerta and Mr. Blotts and a dozen other locals, even top off the day with an epic a snowball battle against a group of bored Ravenclaws.

It's as though the world has flipped itself back where it should be — Sirius' good mood is back, his customary good memory returns, and he doesn't even smell angry when he comes back to the Great Hall, hair covered in Howler ashes like dandruff every morning, and by Monday before the Moon, he's even taking sandwiches to the Astronomy Tower along with the red letter.

They still go to the forest every afternoon, but the Dog doesn't leave Remus' side again, unless it's to show him a new path, an interesting scent. He smells of curiosity again and wonder, and it rubs off on Remus. Hell, they even bloody play _fetch_.

He's good at it, too.

They go to the Shrieking Shack after lunch on Moon Eve, and spend the entire afternoon cleaning up, fixing things, making sure they won't hurt themselves over the next two days. "Puppy proofing," Sirius calls it, and they both laugh.

That evening, over their customary dinner, Remus finds this is a routine he can actually fall into quite easily, and as he settles into his bed that night — no more early trips to the Shack, for him — he can't believe how right it all feels.

Moon Day is on Sunday, and after the Daily Howler, the four of them decide to go for a flight which somehow ends up becoming a stunt show, where James and Sirius take turns leaping off in midair while the other throws the broomstick like a javelin to see if they can catch it before they crash to the ground.

An hour before moonrise, Remus goes to see Pomfrey as usual, settles into the Shack as usual, gets undressed, and waits.

The shift into the wolf is one thing that hasn't changed for the better. It slams into him like a wrecking ball, and it's all screams and shrieks and pain for an eternity, until Remus is shunted to the backseat of his mind and the wolf takes over, leaving him to observe, never to control.

By the time he gets up on all fours and pads out of the bedroom, Sirius is standing in the recently-cleaned front room, juggling three colourful balls.

He's also human, and the smell of him drives the wolf wild.

"Hey Moony!" he calls up at him, it's a voice the wolf has heard before, one that always brings something interesting with it, but it's the Moon tonight, it's the night of the wolf and he is interested in only one thing. He rears up the better to see, slams his paws on the wooden railing that creaks and showers the human below with splinters.

"We'll have to reinforce that," Sirius states. "But that's for later. We're trying something new today," he adds brightly, "I know you can hear me, now I want to know if you can understand me, if you can actually have fun, because really, we need some entertainment. So, I brought something for us to play with, here!"

A ball is lobbed at his nose, squeaks and bounces off on impact. The wolf growls, snaps at the air. What the hell is he doing?

"Try and catch it," Sirius suggests from below, but there's just _one_ thing he wants to catch, and it's not a squeaky chewtoy, even if it _will_ squeak and be used as a toy… and dinner, and he'll possibly bury the rest in the tunnel for the next Moon.

Sirius lobs another ball at him with pretty good aim, encouraging him to catch it this time. So he does, tears it to shreds as he advances, yellow glowing eyes fixed on what has already stopped being _Sirius_ , what is now tonight's prey.

" _Oh_. Oh." His little morsel sounds disappointed, and there's a bird on its shoulder, hooting nervously in its ear. At least the owl has caught on to what is going to happen in a minute, maybe less.

"Well," the boy decides, "I can make us another type of toy, if you'd rather—" The bits of ball flutter to the ground from the upstairs landing, where the wolf is already crouching, tensing for a leap. The third ball flies at him, but the wolf has had enough of this game and ignores it.

"Not a big fan of fetch, I see."

He jumps to the foot of the stairs, and from here, his morsel is rather smaller than he'd anticipated, than he remembers from countless romps through the forest. The wolf stares at it, claws flexing. Now would be a good time for it to run, make it entertaining at least.

 _I'll show you my kind of fun_ , he growls.

"Now, look here, old chap," says his dinner. "You don't want to eat me. You really, really don't, who'll bring you tasty snacks otherwise? Who will come out here to play with you?"

He lets out a low growl in response. The wolf knows the confines of his domain very well, there's nowhere for the morsel to escape to, and this Moon will be long. There's no need to hurry.

Another step, claws clicking on wood, and his nose bumps against his dinner's forehead, his breath sniffing the intriguingly familiar scent that says not-quite-human-but-I'll-eat-it-anyway.

"Now, Moony, that's close enough." His morsel's tone has changed, become wary. Why won't it run?

It isn't close enough, not by a long shot, and the wolf lunges after all. He isn't disappointed when his fangs snap shut around empty air, the owl screeches and flutters to the rafters, and his morsel is, somehow, suddenly ten feet away.

"Ah, dammit—" the morsel has caught on, and the wolf hurls himself at it with a snarl— and it's suddenly… _gone_.

"Woof." There's the dog, tail wagging in greeting, but the wolf isn't remotely interested in it right now. There's a _hunt_ on. The dog seems to catch on, trots away somewhere.

 _Where did it go?_ He growls out his frustration, _it was right there._

"Over here, Moony." The wolf spins around, charges with a howl—

"Woof!" The dog again, tail wagging and leaping around him.

 _Help me catch it. It was right here!_ The human scent is gone again, it's quite perplexing. Maybe it went to the room— yes, he'll corner it there.

"Down here, Moony!"

He bursts out of the room, hurtles down the stairs, takes a leap—

 _Ha ha ha._ The dog is there again, _mocking_ him now as it pads soundlessly up the stairs while he decides to track down that maddening human.

 _Why won't you help me?_ He snaps at the dog. The dog yips, scratches itself behind the ear from the landing. _Help me catch it!_

"Oh, _Moony_!" It's upstairs again? _How_?

.

* * *

.

Remus wakes up buried under a warm duvet on the sofa, his underpants on his head. On the coffee table is Pomfrey's potions basket, the ones he's never been able to take. The vials are within arm's reach now, though, uncorked and ready for him to take. Sirius is gone, but this time, he can recall everything that happened.

Everything hurts, and Remus sits up like an arthritic old wraith, looks himself over, thinking he'll kick Sirius' arse later, for showing up without the bloody fur. Or for driving him mad trying to catch him, he isn't quite sure which.

A handful of bruises aside from when he and the Dog took a tumble down the stairs while wrestling each other yesterday, there isn't a single bite, cut or broken bone on him.

A first, after a super moon. Hell, a first after _any_ Moon. By the time he's taken his potions and put his undies where they ought to go, Remus feels bone-tired, but better than he ever has. Never mind the previous moons, today he feels _all right_.

To judge by the way Pomfrey drops her Healer's bag at the sight of him, he's not the only one who is surprised.

"It's much better than other moons, Remus."

"It is?" Remus feigns surprise.

"Yes, it's incredible, and after two days!" the school Nurse checks him over, but finds nothing wrong. "Maybe you're getting less stressed at last. Settling into the shack. I can't believe it, but you're good to go, just have this potion to get you through today without falling asleep. I'll leave you to get dressed, do tell me if you want to stay to catch up on your coursework, I'll get you some hot chocolate, and biscuits, and if you want to stay for breakfast—" She's all in a dither, still in disbelief. If Remus couldn't recall anything about the past two days, he'd probably be babbling nonsense too.

Remus decides he'll go get breakfast instead. He's in high spirits, snaps his fingers at his coursework for once and goes to find his friends, quite ready to celebrate the best Moon he's ever had.

His friends greet him by cheering loudly when he arrives at the Great Hall, and even Sirius' damned owl refrains from glaring at him.

They're all in high spirits, and Peter and James want to know every detail of the past two days, while Sirius merrily makes himself a handful of sandwiches to eat on the observation deck, makes them laugh with the story of how Remus busted his balls.

When eight o'clock ticks by and the Daily Howler fails to appear, however, Sirius grows a frown, gradually grows quiet, his clear grey eyes fixed on the doors through which the mail owls usually come.

"Maybe they got bored," James tells him.

"Maybe they ran out of insults to throw at you," Pete suggests, and they both laugh. Sirius doesn't join in.

"That's not it, Pete. They never run out. Never get bored, either."

He turns to the Slytherin table, where all twelve of his relations — and favourite enemies — are staring back at him, as confused as he is. To Remus' undying surprise, Bellatrix even shrugs at him, shakes her head. She doesn't know, either.

Before any of them can ask Sirius what's going on, they arrive.

Thirteen black vultures, bearing thirteen black scrolls with the Black crest in silver. The largest one detaches itself from the group headed for the Slytherin table, lands smack in front of Sirius like it owns the place. Hands him a scroll that bears a silver band rather than black, gives him a low bow before taking flight again.

Sirius has gone very, very pale.

"What's going on?" James wants to know as the bird takes off.

Sirius examines the scroll, tests it for curses, his face a blank mask.

"Someone died," he informs tonelessly. Unrolls the scroll and reads, even as the Great Hall grows so silent, everyone in it might as well have vanished.

"Um, Sirius… you might want to turn around." Peter's voice is a tiny, nervous squeak, and when he looks away from Sirius and over his shoulder, Remus sees why.

The Blacks, all twelve of them, are all gathered behind Regulus, who looks much younger than his eleven years, tears falling silently down his face.

Remus finds the rest of them threatening, imposing, even dangerous as they stand there, identical scrolls in their hands, some glaring, some smirking, some weeping— and maybe Sirius senses it too even without looking, because he doesn't turn around for a long time, hands splayed on the tabletop as if to keep the world from tilting, eyes fixed on the scroll that has rolled itself up and produces the only sound heard in the Great Hall; a ring rolls out where there was only parchment, white gold beautifully carved with the Black Crest, diamonds glittering on the dogs' eyes and star.

"It's Father," says Regulus, a long moment later. His voice is soft, trembling. "Sirius… Father is dead."

Sirius closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, gets to his feet. He grabs up the ring with a sweeping motion and turns around at last, jaw clenching as they kneel before him as one, heads bowed. Regulus doesn't. He stares up at his brother, quietly sobbing, as if he's looking for an answer to a question he doesn't know.

Sirius just stares back at him, offers no answer, no comfort. Instead he turns, walks out of the Great Hall without a word, leaving the forgotten scroll on the table, two sweaty handprints on the wooden grain.

.

* * *

TBC, R&R.

I managed to finish it as promised! Do let me know what you think, all comments are appreciated as usual!

 **Up next:** Christmas hols! Only, not as exciting as they ought to be, because Orion is dead and that carries something nasty with it, more Black Warnings, and of course, another Moon which again, fails to be ordinary.


	5. Lion in the Snake Pit

**Disclaimer:** Most, if not all, the situations and some characters depicted here, are totally made up. Especially the story that gave this chapter its title. It goes: a young and brave lion was lured into a snake pit… and then the mausoleum crashed down on him. Kidding, snake pits aren't covered.

* * *

 **In this chapter:** We don't even get _close_ to Christmas. Black politics took over this chapter, Sirius is such a Slytherin, the Succession thingy gained a life of its own, Remus and James have a row, I know, I didn't expect it either, but then they make up, which I didn't expect either, and we get radio, newspaper and magazine coverage, the Gryffindors stand together, and seriously guys and gals, this bit was supposed to be just mentioned in passing but it's alive and ate me up. BLACK WARNINGS. You've been warned, but it's not as bad as all that. Until it is. In case of any kind of confusion, please refer to its sister fic, Succession, where everything is explained. Only… the relevant chapters aren't up yet. lolz.

Again, **thanks** to Shayde 123 for putting up with the frying that usually lets me sort self out and supporting the idea of not cutting most of the stuff in here. Also, TheDivineComedian: man, I tried to support notstupid!Remus and was very confident he'd be the voice of reason but NEG. Guess what. HE IS JEALOUS. I decided to give him a break, he's thirteen and his voice is changing. Tough times to be a kid.

* * *

 **Winter Moon Pt.1: The Lion in the Snake Pit**

* * *

Sirius is out before anyone in the Great Hall can even react, his brother and the other Blacks in tow.

The instant the hem of Delphina Burke-Black whips clear of the doors, there is a shocked sort of silence. Remus feels a sharp tug on his arm courtesy of James and hurries out with him, just as a mad scramble ensues – the rest of the school has the same idea at the same time.

They burst out the double doors —

There is a pile-up of kids behind Remus, as he and the foremost students come to a sudden halt just as those in the rear try to press forward:

Sirius hasn't gone anywhere.

It's _everyone else_ who has arrived.

At least a hundred witches and wizards are gathered in the Entrance Hall, and more are pouring in from outside, where Remus can see the school carriages queueing up.

Sirius is just standing there, smack in the centre of the Entrance Hall, his expression guarded as a tall witch detaches herself from the group and strides swiftly towards him, a Goblin butler hurrying along on either side.

Remus recognises her as Sirius's mother, her tear-streaked face angry, stormy grey eyes flashing as she comes to a halt in front of Sirius, blocks him from the new arrivals. Her lips are moving, but Remus can't make out what she's saying as she grips Sirius's face in one hand, tilts it up, examines him as if to make sure it's actually him. Lips pursed, she takes the ring he's gripping in his hand, slides it on his finger with something like fierce satisfaction, eyes boring holes into her son's as if she's daring him to say something.

Sirius's jaw clenches visibly, but he doesn't otherwise move.

Next to Remus, James lets out a hiss, grips his wrist.

"What's the matter?" Remus asks, still watching as Sirius's mother now grips the back of his neck, whispers something in his ear. Sirius swallows and nods shortly, too tense for words.

"For a moment it felt as if it was… dunno — burning, eating at me," James mutters. "But it's gone now."

Remus still can't get used to that strange bond James and Sirius share — even after he's gotten it explained to him — and while he tries to implicitly accept James's insights as truth, he can see clearly James is wrong: Sirius's fist is clenched as hard as his jaw, as his mother turns him to face the crowd now gathered around them.

To judge by the way James is frowning in undisguised confusion, he has noticed as well.

"I give you Sirius Black," says Walburga loudly, her long fingernails digging into the back of Sirius's neck. "Heir to Orion, by birth and by right. Today we mourn his father, and he is elevated to the Head of this Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

The witches and wizards take a knee, heads bowed. This time, even Regulus kneels like the rest.

"There must always be a Black to rule," Walburga declaims.

"Hail Sirius Black," the sea of Blacks chorus back.

Remus doesn't miss how some are glaring furiously, biting out the words rather than chanting them. There is not one between them who says them in earnest. Except maybe Regulus, and a few of the younger Blacks, who aren't of school age yet.

"What are they _doing_?" Remus asks James out of the corner of his mouth.

"It's called _Elevatio_." Surprisingly, it's Peter who provides the answer, and Remus and James both stare at their chubby friend, who blushes to the roots of his hair. "My gran told me about it, it's supposed to be a very old ceremony."

"What's that mean?" Remus presses on. He's never heard of such a thing.

This time, it's James who elaborates, "It's basically a change of administration. They're… elevating Sirius from the Heir of the Blacks to the Head of the Blacks, but this sort of thing hasn't been seen in the open since my dad was a kid."

As if on cue, a pair of Goblin butlers roll out a deeply black carpet that looks like they're spreading out an abyss, and when Sirius and his mother step on it, they are raised at least three feet in the air.

Sirius expression changes then, just a slight, but it's there — a small frown, a shadow of fear that flits over his eyes. It's the same expression he wore in the Hospital Wing a month ago. It's also gone the next moment, replaced by his best poker face. He looks like he's aged by the time the dais is up, and not in the best of ways.

"By blood and birthright, Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black the Second becomes today, the Black Successor," Walburga chants, her voice, pleasant and strong and echoing on the walls, reverberates through Hogwarts itself, as if the castle, rather than the people, were being addressed.

She then goes to her knees with a dramatic gesture.

"There must always be a Black to rule," the many-voiced chant answers her, and when Remus tears his eyes away from his friend, he has to wonder why they're doing it here, in the Entrance Hall…

Until he sees the first student kneel.

Unsurprisingly, it's James, who looks up at them and gives them a look and a jerk of his head to do the same thing. Here and there, other students are doing the same. The rest just look as confused as Remus feels.

"What are we doing, now?" Peter asks, on his knees now.

"It's a test," James whispers, as he seeks out a kneeling Fabian with his eyes and makes a signal the Gryffindor Quidditch Team knows full well. _Follow my lead._ "A show of support from the Wizarding community."

"You know this how?" Remus asks, as a rustle of fabric sweeps across the Entrance Hall. Gryffindor House has knelt as one. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff follow suit, even a handful of Slytherins seem to be going down.

"He just told me," James answers. "His acceptance depends on the support he gets from everyone here. Just do as I do." He takes a deep breath, then says very clearly, "Hail Sirius Black." Remus is stunned at how many voices chorus it with him. In the space of a breath, though, it's everyone. Even Filch, who hates Sirius with a passion, is chanting along with the rest, on his knees like everyone else.

And this is why it's happening here, Remus realises: It's a show of power, and the message is nothing if not clear — the Blacks are powerful, they're royalty, and they shall not be messed with. So get with the programme.

Regulus is elevated too, from heir presumptive to heir apparent, and then Walburga asks Sirius to name his Steward.

"I name Alphard Betelgeuse Black as My Lord Steward." It doesn't even _sound_ like him.

An old wizard walks forward, similar to Orion in every aspect, except he looks warmly at Sirius, his dark eyes filled with a disappointed kind of sorrow as he fixes his nephew in his gaze. Apart from Regulus, he is arguably the only Black not staring at him like they'd wish him to spontaneously combust, but he doesn't seem happy about his appointment.

"Do you accept the position that fate and blood have bestowed on you from birth?" Walburga booms from the lower step of the dais.

"To my last breath." And that sounded _entirely too much_ like Sirius.

"To your last breath," Walburga smiles, nods, as if she knows something they don't. " _So be it_."

The dais is lowered, and Sirius flinches as Walburga places a hand on his shoulder, her fingernails digging into it as she makes to steer him towards the carriages.

"We'll go home now, get you out of that horrid getup once and for—"

"I need a moment with my Steward. He can help me get ready." Sirius's voice is soft, unyielding — an order. Walburga lets go as if stung, eyes flashing momentarily… but then she nods graciously and a Goblin — no house elves, for them — leads Alphard towards them.

"Get him ready, then, _Lord Steward_ ," she orders, unable to keep the mocking tone from her voice, then moves away to join the other Blacks.

.

* * *

.

Remus gets yanked behind a statue.

As he stands there, squished between Peter and James and wonders _what now_ , Dumbledore detaches himself from the rest of the school, who are getting ushered back into the Great Hall — oddly, without complaints — and gives Sirius an elaborate bow.

In the background, the Blacks have begun greeting each other, hugging, weeping — looking quite the bereaved family all of a sudden. Even Walburga catches a devastated Regulus as he flies into her arms, looking almost… human. It is as though someone just replaced the imposing, dangerous-looking lot of them with actual feeling, _living_ beings… and Sirius, who is usually the liveliest of them all, with a stern-faced statue.

"My most heartfelt condolences to you during this trying time," says the Headmaster, drawing Remus's attention back to his friend. Sirius gives Dumbledore a glance, a headshake with an almost imperceptible frown.

"I need to get changed, sir. Gryffindor robes don't exactly go down well with that lot on a good day. Somewhere private. Thank you."

"Certainly, Lord Black." Dumbledore waves his wand with a flourish— a chamber appears next to the doors to the Great Hall, where the students are all squished together like sardines, still reluctant to miss a thing. He opens the door and bows Sirius and Alphard inside the parlour that has just materialised.

" _C'mon, Pete_ ," James hisses, now holding the Cloak up like a tent, which Remus has already ducked under. Pete gives him a wide-eyed, fearful stare, shakes his head. For once, James doesn't argue. Instead, he pulls Remus along, and they hurry through the door behind a group of Goblins carrying expensive-looking robes, flatten themselves against the wall of an elegantly-furnished room just as Dumbledore bows himself out.

"You three— leave that there and get out," says Sirius to the Goblins, in that same solemn tone that sounds so _wrong_ coming from his mouth. "Alphard will help me." They leave the robes and troop outside in reverse, bowing so low their noses almost brush the floor, with a chorus of, "Yes, Lord Black."

The instant the door closes, however, both Alphard and Sirius drop the solemn act immediately.

In quick succession, they cast Privacy Charms, Imperturbable Charms, that rubber bubble Sirius uses so his Howlers won't be overheard, as though they've rehearsed it a thousand times.

Then they glare at each other.

Sirius waves his hand angrily and all the portraits are flipped around to face the wall — to a many-voiced protest — while Alphard flicks his fingers to make glass cases appear around them, both staring unblinkingly into each other's eyes.

"You're playing with fire, my Lord," Alphard breaks the silence. "Naming me your _steward_." His expression is stern, but his voice is shaking with suppressed anger. " _Me_. What on _earth_ were you _thinking_?"

"You were Father's! What the hell _else_ was I supposed to do?" Sirius's eyes too, are flashing, but his anger is anything but suppressed. "It's not like I got any bloody _warning_ —"

"Yes, I was Orion's steward, but he only did that to _protect_ me, _and_ he was actually _able to_. He was over twice your age when he took the job," snaps Alphard, runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "They don't want a blood-traitor at the head of their table, even now they're thinking of ways to get rid of you — and _you_ , my young Lord— much as you resemble him, you're _nothing_ like Orion."

"Small blessings." Sirius grits it out, but his grin is genuine… if a tad manic. Remus recognises it and it makes his stomach wring itself into knots. "And stop it with the milords, damn you."

 _"_ Not blessings, _my Lord,_ but a curse, right now. For you." Alphard says, looking Sirius up and down, as if seizing him up. "For anyone foolish enough to follow you. Particularly now we are at war. Think, Lord, _think_!"

He paces up and down the chamber, while Sirius gives him a mulish look, arms crossed defiantly.

"I can't stay on as your steward," Alphard says firmly. "I've served one Black, and that is more than enough. I can help you with the _Successio_ and _Accessio_ without exposing myself too much. I could step down for health reasons, after this fiasco is over…"

 _If you allow it,_ hangs in the air between them. Remus finds it so strange, because he has no idea what's going on, and _he_ caught it.

"Fair enough," Sirius concedes graciously, and Alphard bows so low, it looks as though he just dropped a Sickle. "You do that. _After_ the bloody whatever-comes-next is done, though, not a second sooner. _And_ you'll stay on in the capacity of Chief Counsellor."

 _Chief Counsellor? What?_ Remus frowns at James, who gives him a shrug, turns to stare holes at Sirius again. If he's noticed they're here at all, he hasn't let it on.

"Yes, Lord. Thank you." Alphard gives Sirius a look that's part grateful, part frightened. Sirius returns it with an impatient one of his own, loosens his tie.

"Just get up, Alfie. There'll be enough of this ridiculous bowing and kneeling later. And you," he adds wryly, "are just about the one person I don't like to see grovelling at my feet."

Alphard obeys. Then he steps around Sirius to take his outer robes.

"I _am_ sorry, but I cannot protect you. Right now, no-one can. I am a baby-step away from being labelled a blood-traitor myself, and associating with _you_ …" he trails off, empties Sirius's pockets. Candy, his battered Muggle wireless, a blue pocket knife, a bouncy ball with tooth marks on it that squeaks as it hits another silver tray. A child's things, discarded.

"I know you can't," Sirius says, like it's obvious, undoes his silver cufflinks — since when does he wear _cufflinks_? — and gives them to Alphard. "I don't expect you to. But you _can_ speak plainly. Here. _Now_. I rather need that more. There's no-one else _but_ you, now Andromeda is gone."

"Tread _carefully_. You can't go against them, not now," Alphard advises. "All that _talk_ when you visited Grimmauld Place last —" he cuts himself off, folds Sirius's school robes expertly, places them on another floating silver tray that seems to have appeared out of nowhere just for this purpose.

"You heard, then." Sirius lets him undo his tie, roll it up, begin unbuttoning his blazer with a smirk.

"I did," Alphard confirms, unsmiling. He sounds disapproving. "It was over the top, even for you. I can't _believe_ you told him you'd end the House."

"I told him I'd do away with all the traditions as well," Sirius points out. " _And_ that he could kiss my arse, and other stuff I remember only vaguely. Who else heard?" He sounds curious.

"Your mother, as evidenced by her promise to send you a thousand Howlers for it." Sirius makes a sound that's part groan, part laugh.

"A _thousand_? There I was thinking she'd grow bored after a couple of dozen."

Alphard focuses on Sirius's school blazer.

"So far, nobody else knows, and you would do well in keeping it that way. It would be _disastrous_ if any others learnt of even _one_ of the things you said. They'd call it treason."

"It was, Alphard. It _is_. No point tip-toeing around it."

"Did you really mean it?"

"Every word. And I'm not taking it back, am I? It's the _truth_ , Alfie" Sirius tells him forcefully. "This House is a farce, a bloody theatre play. It needs burning down, and I learnt to spell up Gubraithian Fire the other day for a reason." Sirius returns his uncle's sharp glance with a shrug. " _She_ might think I don't remember, but I _do_."

"How much _do_ you remember?"

"Some of it. A little," Sirius admits.

"How little?"

"Enough. I think he was so mad he botched all those charms somehow," Sirius replies. "They didn't quite take."

"You gave him a _stroke,_ " Alphard points out, but there is no reproach in his tone, it's just a statement.

"So I hear," and there's unmistakable satisfaction in Sirius's tone. "I also made him a promise, and I'm going to keep it. They can go fuck themselves if they don't like it."

"The only one who'll get fucked if they learn of those things you said, is you, My Lord." Alphard folds the blazer, rolls up the tie. There is a silence while the old wizard unbuttons his shirt. "Your father was furious, angrier than I've ever seen him. Spoke of drowning you in the well like the cur he thought you to be."

"He does that every time he remembers he's got a shite son," says Sirius. "That's why I _broke_ the bloody well first thing in the Summer."

"Orion is _dead_ , My Lord."

Sirius rolls his eyes at the reminder.

"He _did_ that every time he _remembered_ —" he revises obnoxiously, but Alphard cuts him off, abruptly grabs him by his arms, and shakes him, hard.

Sirius flinches, stares up at him in shock.

"HE _MEANT_ IT!" Alphard shouts, inches from Sirius's face. "If he hadn't died today… You wouldn't be alive _tomorrow_. Do you _understand_ that _, My Lord_?"

Sirius makes a choked little sound, his eyes very wide. For a moment, he looks like a child again. Alphard stares at him intensely, not loosening his grip.

"Just this morning, before he left for the Ministry— he _decided to have you killed_. He wasn't on his way to work — he was on his way to meet your murderer!" Alphard looks at him, lets go of his arms. Sirius is still staring at him in shock.

"I gather you weren't aware," Alphard says, his tone business-like again. "I take it Mycroft hasn't even arrived with the news yet, has he?"

Sirius shakes his head, still staring at his uncle.

"You're extremely lucky," Alphard adds, returns to his task as though nothing just happened. "His death bought you time, but your mother is aware of Orion's plan, she told me all about it earlier. Now — they can't kill you outright anymore. Not this week, not _if you play your cards right_. You have to bury Orion before they can bury _you_."

Sirius is very quiet as his shirt goes the same way the rest of his clothing has. Remus can see he is thinking hard, but then he reaches a conclusion, nods to himself.

"Okay, noted," Sirius says evenly. "What's next?"

"We'll go over it on the way to London. We're taking a carriage, it will give us more time. Raise your arms, My Lord."

Then the undershirt comes off, and Remus can only stare at what Alphard has uncovered. He has to stifle a gasp, while next to him, James grimaces: Sirius's entire torso resembles the canvas of an extremely frustrated, angry Jackson Pollock. There's not an inch that isn't covered in an assortment of livid-looking scars and old bruises — and _scars,_ Remus knows better than anyone.

These are recent, mere weeks old.

There is a painfully familiar one that covers Sirius's right hip and vanishes into the waistband of his trousers, and it already looks older than most of the criss-crossing patterns of slashes all over Sirius's skin. Last night's bruises from that tumble down the stairs are clearly visible too, cherry-red against the abused background.

He glances at James, who has gone very pale, eyes fixed on Sirius with sympathy — and it hits him: James has _seen this before_.

Whatever he told Remus weeks earlier has just been tangibly debunked as a very naive assumption at best, an outright lie at worst - and past his horror, Remus finds himself going over James's every word. He looks at him again, with something like reproach. Worse. He feels betrayed.

"He never did things by halves." Alphard turns Sirius around, the better to see, giving no indication he's the slightest bit surprised by the state of his nephew.

"Unless you count his half-baked ideas about the world."

"Do you remember how you got these?" Alphard prods at one of the redder lines.

"For the most part," Sirius grits out.

"We'll have to erase all that," Alphard comments. "These look quite ripe."

"Why bother? It's not like the bloody funeral is at the beach."

"Have this, my Lord," suddenly Alphard is holding a goblet out to Sirius.

"Poison? Already? I'm not even _dressed_ yet," Sirius jokes, and Alphard laughs.

"It's just a little pick-me-up. You'll need it."

" _Yuck_ , Alfie. This tastes like troll piss," Sirius grimaces after a sniff and an experimental sip. "I thought, being The Black, I'd get some mulled mead, at least."

"Drink up, Lord," Alphard prompts.

Sirius down gulps the concoction in a few long swigs, and it's like watching a Pollock's creation in reverse. By the time he puts the goblet down, his skin is quite unblemished, except for the bite and a single round mark the size of a Knut on the back of his neck.

"Alphard, where were you last _month_ , man?" Sirius cricks his neck, stretches, as though a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "Tastes like troll piss, but it certainly hits the spot."

"Orion sent me to the Black Sea."

"Don't tell me he's still sore because it's not ours anymore?"

"If I had known…"

"He wouldn't have let you do anything, Alphard. He is _so_ onto us. I'll need those by the crate, though."

"Your Lord Father is dead, my Lord."

" _Chyeah_ , but she's not."

"Since your Lord Father is _dead_ , you are now the head of the family."

"And that's going to stop her?"

"… No. I have a dozen of these at home."

"So," Sirius asks, rolling his shoulders experimentally. "What happened?"

"He was murdered, Lord. Horribly murdered. They are saying it was a coup, but it was revenge."

"Rightfully?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Natural causes, then." They both chuckle. It's _surreal_.

"Your mother has requested a private audience with you upon arrival in London, before you go pick up your late father."

"I figured," mutters Sirius, losing his amusement and grimacing. " _Shite_." He pours more emotion into that word alone than he has all day.

"You sure that was a dog?" Alphard asks, feigning curiosity as he points at the bite mark.

"Oh, stop it with the bloody werewolf already," Sirius mutters, and Alphard laughs. "That damned bite has brought me enough trouble as it is." Sirius shakes his head in defeat, but he looks _amused_ , of all things. As though everything they've been talking about isn't appalling, or frightening, or horrifying; as though _this_ is what passes for an everyday sort of conversation in the Black family, light banter over a little scar-erasing potion to hide a horrible kind of abuse, just to set the jovial mood over a close death.

Remus, who, despite his condition considers himself a rather well-balanced individual — better balanced than Sirius, at the very least — and is frankly shocked and appalled and horrified and not a little frightened, suddenly has no problem believing it is.

The next moment, however, Sirius is standing around in his birthday suit, seeming quite unbothered by his own nudity, while Remus does his best to look away and blushes to the roots of his hair. James just glares at the floor, and Alphard folds up the rest of the clothes on the tray, socks and shoes and all…

And tosses them into the fire.

While Sirius's school robes flare up and burn, Alphard dresses him in new clothes, each item as dark and shimmering as a black hole. By the time the older wizard adjusts Sirius's robes, it looks as though he is bringing the darkest night with him every time he moves.

To Remus it feels as though the Sirius he's known — or thought he knew — who only last night was pelting him with chew toys and making him chase him up and down the Shack — is being reduced to a pile of ash in the fireplace, leaving this grim-faced and dour shell behind.

Maybe that's actually what's happening before his eyes. Maybe it's not Orion's death they ought to mourn here.

Sirius rubs his fingers, grimaces, and Alphard glances down, stops adjusting his tie to examine the ring.

"It hurt your father too, at first. Ate away his humanity."

"I guess it's really hungry, then," Sirius says tightly. "He never had much of to begin with."

Alphard chuckles in agreement.

"How do I stop it? I can't take it off, and it burns." It's the barest of complaints.

"No, you cannot. Not until this is over, and even then it will be hard, if not impossible. Give it _something_ to feed on," Alphard suggests. "Something that's an inherent part of you, something you won't miss not getting back."

Now Sirius looks worried. Alphard finishes up by proffering polished boots, adjusts them without a word.

"That's you all set, Lord. Did you have any breakfast?"

"No."

"Good," says Alphard, in a much lighter tone, turns to pour two glasses of wine, hands one to Sirius. "To you, my Lord. Long may you reign."

Sirius snorts, shakes his head.

"Here's looking at you, Lord Steward. May _you_ survive this in mostly one piece." They both down their drinks in a single swig, toss the glasses into the fireplace.

"Make sure you don't eat anything," Alphard says next, checking Sirius over one last time. "We have to pick up your father and from what I hear, you'll fare better on an empty stomach. I hope you aren't queasy, it appears he met a grisly end."

"And you'll give me every detail, of course?" Sirius sounds mildly curious, but, Remus notes with a pang, not at all put off by the prospect as he makes his child's toys disappear in the folds of his new robes.

Alphard waves his wand to cancel all the spells they placed in the room upon arrival and opens the door with a chuckle, steers Sirius out into the Entrance Hall.

"I'll tell you everything along the way, my Lord. Now, don't forget to thank each of your relations for coming here and for their kind support…"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll behave."

"C'mon, Remus." James pulls him along by the arm and to the Great Hall. Remus gets a last glimpse of Sirius, walking with Alphard towards the carriages and talking to the mass of Blacks bowing to him as he goes.

.

* * *

.

At nine on the dot, the Blacks are gone.

An instant later, the Great Hall turns into a palpitating, eager mass of _noise_.

It seems to Remus as though every word the school has been biting back bursts forth at the same time, in an explosion of sound that makes him jump. Everyone, it seems, wants to discuss what just happened, and the question on their lips seems to be: "What happened to Orion Black? Does anyone know?"

Remus is more anxious about what's going to happen to his son.

Next to him, James has been disturbingly silent, as unlike himself as Sirius was by the time he left the castle a handful of minutes earlier. Remus, though, feels shaken to his core. The whole morning has been a quick succession of unexpected blows and uncertainty, and he can't say he can fully grasp what's going on — all he knows, in the pit of his stomach, is that it's _bad_. As though the agony he was spared during the last Moon was just carried over to something — some _one_ — else.

His eyes wander to the scroll that is still lying there, small and rolled up and harmless-looking, exactly where Sirius dropped it not an hour earlier. He fixes them on James next, but he, too, is staring at the thing as if it's about to blow up.

When Sirius's copy of the Daily Prophet — out of the four of them, he is the only one who gets daily news — lands on the table with a _smack_ , they both jump about a foot in the air.

And when both their eyes fall on the headline — _ORION BLACK MURDERED IN MINISTRY OF MAGIC ATRIUM_ — it's like everyone snaps into motion at the same time.

Peter jogs over from the Ravenclaw table, where he's been talking to Marlene and her little brother Michael, and squeezes in between Remus and James to read the news with them. The rest of Gryffindor House seems to be content reading over their shoulders.

"Revenge killing?" Frank Longbottom asks, leaning forward, before Remus has even torn his eyes from the first picture on the front page: it shows imposing, unforgiving Orion Black standing still as a statue, one hand gripping Sirius's shoulder as though he's about to run away, the other resting on Regulus', Walburga at his side.

James whistles through his teeth, and as Remus's eyes fly over the paper, he can't but do the same.

Orion Black wasn't merely murdered, as it turns out. He was hacked down, almost beheaded, then set on fire, blasted — by a vengeful Muggleborn wizard, whose father Orion had sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss — and there is suspicion he tampered with the evidence, the wizard, by the name of Ernest Franklin of all things, was wrongly accused and sentenced.

.

* * *

.

Classes are suspended for the remainder of the week, Dumbledore announces a little later. Even the end-of-term Quidditch game is rescheduled and turned into a start-of-term game.

Remus suspects it's because most, if not all Pureblood or Half-Blood students will be going to the state funeral at some point over the next few days.

Sirius's father's death has left a strange sort of unrest in its wake, particularly among the Gryffindors. They have all been propelled to celebrity status, owing to the fact that they have both The Black and the son of the Hit Wizard who killed Orion's murderer among their ranks, so it's them everyone wants to get news from, as though belonging to the House alone made them privy to some secret kind of information.

Of course, within the House, everyone looks to James, Remus and Peter, even the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, for privileged information. The truth is, they're each as lost as the next, but they all want to know more. Everyone is curious, everyone is intrigued, and as the Prophet makes the rounds, so do countless theories and speculations.

The only one who doesn't seem to share the overall excitement is James. Maybe because he's been trying his mind-trick all morning without result.

He and Remus have hardly spoken a word over the past four hours, but the twelve o'clock news are about to start, and that probably means they'll find out how Sirius is doing.

Launcelot, too, has been acting up. He flutters around their heads, sits on their shoulders, dances around on their backs, then flutters away, only to come back again, as though he can't get comfortable unless it's on top of Sirius's head. The poor bird seems to feel quite out of place without Sirius around. The three of them feel the same way.

"Shush," snaps Frank, ear almost pressed to the ancient wireless in the Common Room, tuning it carefully with his wand. Alice, the other Fifth-Year Prefect, is almost hanging out from the window, levitating their makeshift antenna into place. "It's starting!"

"… _warlock of unbesmirched reputation, Orion Black was arriving to work on this fateful Tuesday morning, which would prove to be his last,_ " the tinny voice of Leyland Burrows, the chief WWN reporter, proclaims grandiosely. There is a dramatic pause, and Remus can hear James mutter, "Serves him right, the _bastard_."

All day, he has been glowering at the world — except for a handful of occasions when he seemed to forget where he is altogether. James's eyes randomly lose their focus, and he'll look like he's miles away all of a sudden, only to return to his previous glowering state.

Once or twice, he tells them he just got hold of Sirius, but it's too vague, too short-lived to be anything but a glimpse. Other times, he'll just glare at nothing, say nothing. Remus is most curious about those, and not in a good way.

On the wireless, Burrows goes on to describe everything in the greatest detail, from the Aurors to the smoke and things they already read about, until finally…

 _"—_ _yes, I am being told Orion's eldest son, Sirius Orion Black, has just arrived at the Ministry. As you well know, only the Successor of The Black can conduct this momentous task, which given the state of the body, promises to be quite the handicap for the fourteen-year-old Hogwarts student._

" _I see him now— he holds himself well for someone undoubtedly weighed down by grief. Our community might have lost a pillar, but young Sirius has lost his father, his guide in this world…_ "

Next to him, James snorts, and even Remus has to bite back a scoff at the amount of bullshit they're hearing.

" _…_ _and now he must identify the body of his late, beloved father. He has now reached the bier, and we are trying to get as close as possible, to see if we can get an interview— I can see him lifting the sheet with which Orion has been covered and shielded from view,"_ the reporter announces with undisguised excitement. _"The sight is said to be gruesome and not for the faint of heart. I can see the young Black lifting the sheet further, and let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, he does not waver at all._

 _"_ _Now Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is conducting the standard questions that—"_

 _"_ _Yes, it's Orion Black, there's no doubt about it,"_ it's Sirius's voice, and it makes a ripple of excitement run through the Gryffindors. _"I want to see the other one."_

 _"_ _It seems it's not enough for Orion's son to identify his father, he is now being led to where his father's killer lies. Franklin was taken down on the spot by Tiberius Shacklebolt, a Hit Wizard on his way home. He could not, however save Sirius Black's father from this tragic fate."_

While the wireless drones on, the Gryffindors clap First-Year Kingsley Shacklebolt on the back and cheer for his father's heroism. Frank shushes them again.

 _"…_ _Black, who is kind enough to share a few thoughts with us on his father's passing. The country mourns with you, Lord Black, and we all lament your father's untimely death."_

 _"_ _Thank you,_ " says Sirius's voice, the carefully measured tone completely alien to Remus's ears. " _It is a terrible tragedy, and it is certainly a blow to the House of Black. Father will be…_ " there is a pause that stretches a hair's breadth too far into the realm of sarcasm. " _Missed_."

 _"_ _There has been talk that this was a political coup as well as a horrible crime, what are your thoughts on the matter?"_

 _"_ _Father was a prominent member of this Ministry, and as such, he was fortunate in having made a wealth of allies, but some_ unfortunate _… enemies as well. From what I was told by the Aurors, it was a revenge killing. I do not see politics behind it, just_ …" Sirius pauses again, probably censoring half the things he wants to say instead. " _Just terribly misplaced_ justice." He sounds so… grown-up.

" _Will you support stricter sanctions against Muggleborns in our society?"_

 _"_ _No, what does that have to do with anything? It was a_ wizard _who killed him, right? Wizarding Law ought to apply."_

" _Do you wish to avenge your father's death?"_ Burrows sounds eager for another revenge killing.

 _"_ _You_ do _realise his killer is_ dead, _right_?" Sirius answers, like he can't believe what he's hearing. " _There's nothing_ anyone _can do about it, is there? Except maybe an inquiry into what really happened. So_ we all _get our facts straight, instead of making up coups and dragging the war into it. That's something I would actually_ like _to see."_

 _"_ _Do you have a statement regarding the Franklin family?_ " the reporter presses on.

" _I'm sorry for their loss. Now excuse me, I have to deal with mine_."

" _There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,"_ the reporter exclaims. _"The Black's first statement and his first official act. He is perhaps, the first Black heir to not outright demand the harshest of punishments to be bestowed upon Muggleborns and Half-bloods following this crime…_ "

The Gryffindors, most of whom are actually Muggleborn or Half-Bloods, erupt into cheers.

Well.

 _Most_ of them.

"That utter _idiot_ ," James mutters, shaking his head furiously. "What the hell is he playing at? He's just put a bloody noose around his neck."

"What? Why?" asks Peter.

"He just _defended_ Muggleborns and Half-Bloods _and_ paid his respects to his father's _killer_. That won't go over well with his family." James curses under his breath, and before Remus can say anything, he stomps off somewhere to sulk.

.

* * *

.

When a Special Evening Edition of the Prophet arrives that night, everything grinds to a halt as the House gathers in groups to read. Remus and Peter and the Quidditch team cluster around James, who snatched the first copy.

The headline, _THE BLACK IS DEAD — LONG LIVE THE BLACK,_ makes Remus's stomach gain a new knot.

"They won't like that headline, either," says James darkly. Remus, like James, focuses on the moving pictures underneath.

The first one shows Sirius in his dark robes, shrouding his father's body in a jet-black sheet, then going around the Atrium, searching the ground, occasionally stooping to pick something up and wrapping each piece in a separate black cloth. Remus can see his stone-faced uncle standing in the back, with a group of goblins, Ministry personnel and Aurors standing guard nearby.

The caption reads: _Sirius Black's grim first task — to prepare his father for burial, he must first find all of him_.

Remus's attention is more focused on Sirius, though. His expression is one of utter concentration as he looks for body parts, but it's the way he moves that tells him rather more. There's a stiffness about him, quite unlike his usual graceful movements, and Remus can't but remember why that is. He just saw it hours earlier, and he worries it's somehow gotten worse.

The next picture shows Sirius directing the goblins to put the body and a large number of folded-up cloths on an ebony bier, elaborately carved with the Black crest in silver. They seem to like putting the thing everywhere, don't they? There's even one on the canopy of Sirius's bed.

The article describes the complicated last rites of the Black family, goes over the gruesome murder once more, reiterates the country is in mourning...

 _Sirius Black, who at fourteen has barely recovered from a scare last month, when an ordinary dog bite was mistakenly thought to have come from a werewolf, now has to deal with another, potentially harsher blow: The horrifying murder of his own father, which comes at a particularly difficult political time for Muggleborn and Half-Blood witches and wizards, and which has sparked a strong sentiment against this part of our society._

 _Showing impressive strength of character, this brave lad demanded an inquiry into the "actual reason for [his father's] murder" this morning, when faced with the gruesome task of identifying Orion Black's body and readying it for transport to their Blackmore End estate, stating, "it would be a terrible shame if such an important wizard were reduced to being just a victim of the war because of hearsay and politics. I want to know what_ really _happened, and so should everyone. We ought to get our facts straight_ before _we start jumping to conclusions and blaming Muggleborns and Half-Bloods for every little thing that goes wrong._

 _"All we know is that a_ wizard _killed him and how. I don't care how pure his blood was — I want to know_ why _."_

 _This might backfire for the Blacks. Ernest Franklin Jr., the Half-Blood son of a Muggleborn who was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss by Orion Black himself, was reputedly wrongfully accused, the evidence tampered with._

This might backfire for Sirius, Remus thinks.

"Do we worry now?" he asks James quietly.

James grumbles something out. The next moment, he's gone again.

.

* * *

.

That night, James doesn't go upstairs with the rest of them after the midnight broadcast — apparently the Blacks are having a large thirteen-course feast before the funeral begins properly the following day, which Sirius doesn't attend for some obscure reason — and it is when he's thinking about what that reason may be that Remus decides it's high time he addressed the elephant in the room.

Peter did not seem half as surprised as Remus expected, when he told him about what he and James had seen this morning. All he said was, "You shouldn't have gone to spy on him." And then little Peter went to bed.

Remus though, has had enough of what he sees as a host of secrets and outright lies. He's spent all day in shock, then worrying, and quite frankly, Peter's answer is the last straw. Even Peter _knows_ , James clearly knows more than anyone — and what pisses Remus off is that they didn't tell _him_.

It makes him feel like an outsider all over again, as if his friends don't trust him at all.

Why?

"Are you done sulking yet, or will we have to wait until after the holidays?" Remus asks, when he and James are quite alone in the Common Room and he's stared at the dancing flames in the grate long enough.

"I'm not sulking," James mutters, sulkily. "I just can't reach him for buggerall." He looks away from the fire and at Remus, his expression tight with the same sort of worry that brought him here. "He's supposed to prepare his father's body for viewing tonight, and whenever I get the tiniest glimpse—" James cuts himself off, shakes his head.

"Maybe the spell isn't working properly?" Remus ventures. James shakes his head dismissively.

"It's a blood-bond, not just a spell, and it _works_ ," he says testily, as though Remus should know all this already.

"What does it do, exactly?" Remus asks. "Maybe it's, dunno, choppy?"

A Privacy Charm goes up all of a sudden, and for a moment as all outside sound is drowned out, Remus wonders how James did it. He didn't use his wand.

"We're linked, mind, body and soul," James explains. "When he's happy, or angry, or whatever — if the emotion is strong enough, I feel it too. If he's hurt, I feel it, and, y'know. The other way 'round. We can even talk to each other with just a thought. It works _fine_ ," James grits out, angrily. "It works _perfectly_ , all the time, we've even gotten better at using it… Except… Except…"

"Except when he's at his parents'." Remus finishes for him, so he doesn't have to.

"Yeah." It's not even loud enough to be a whisper. "He went to see that bloody bint that calls herself his mother. I haven't gotten much of anything since, just bits and pieces— whenever I do, it's like I can't see a thing, and…" he trails off with a defeated sort of shrug.

The answer is obvious, but Remus doesn't have the heart to tell James what he thinks is happening. He has, after all, spent most of his life on the move, always _hiding_ , hiding his illness, hiding his private life, hiding from anyone who could make a connection. Until very recently when Sirius started spending the moons with him, he was even hiding from his friends, hiding from himself, and it was _normal_. For him. It's still an automatic reaction.

But illness, even lycanthropy, is something James _can_ understand, and see through, and connect the dots. A disease is just rotten luck, right? What they saw this morning, the implications of it all… He's not sure how much James understands, or even wants to acknowledge. Remus can't wrap his mind around it, and he's still rattled about it, but at least he recognised it for what it _is_.

Sirius's situation is rather different from his, and frankly, the only indication of it until now has been the infamous start-of-term sulk (easily dismissed and forgotten before the end of September), the customary end-of-year short temper. Sirius is just better at hiding it— hell, he doesn't even seem to be _bothered_ by it, which makes it worse.

Or maybe that is a lie as well.

And that is the real problem, isn't it? Sirius has spent years _lying to them_ , and what's worse in Remus's eyes — James seems to be in on it, and it's maybe a callous thought, but he seems to be quite content not doing the first thing about it.

Remus has spent the day revising everything he knows about Sirius Black, wondering why he didn't _see it_ — when in hindsight, it all adds up and what _else_ could it have been? Now he is doubting the truth behind what he thought were sure, solid facts. Now he doesn't feel as if sometimes Sirius seems like a stranger. Remus is coming to realise he doesn't know Sirius at _all_.

And it stings. It makes him angry.

"That _bastard_ ," James mutters, yanks Remus to the present. He's got a page of the Prophet's special edition in his hands now and is staring at yet another photograph of Orion with an unhappy-looking Sirius. "I'm glad he's dead, but why does he have to drag him down t—?"

Suddenly, James's eyes slide out of focus. The paper, to the floor.

"James?" Remus ventures. James looks rather like he got a good Confundus Charm aimed at his head, and Remus is debating whether or not to shake him, when he lets out a loud laugh and makes him jump.

"Oh, this is _priceless_ ," he tells Remus, fully back again, his previous sulking forgotten. "He's driving them _insane_ by playing Tocatta and Fugue over and over while he makes them help him rearrange his father's icky remains without magic— and he charmed the wireless so _he_ can hear Muggle rock. So far, he says he's made four of them puke, and he keeps calling more in to share in the revulsion."

For some reason, that makes Remus feel… bitter.

"Yeah, because that's what every devoted son does for his dead father," he mutters.

"What got your bloomers in a bunch?" James asks, relief written all over his face. "This is great news—"

"You," Remus answers, and for all that he didn't want to make it sound accusing, it does. "You _knew_. You've known all along, haven't you? Earlier— you knew about the— those _marks_." Which is what has Remus all out of sorts, if he's honest.

"Of course I did. I do." James doesn't look like he's in a joking mood anymore.

"When did you find out?"

"The day after he got back. On the Moon," is the infuriating answer. "There was this spell, a Concealment Charm of some sort I think, it wore off while he was looking for his shirt."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Remus erupts.

"It's not something that's for me to tell. Besides, we've got some more pressing problems to deal with just now, don't you think?"

"What's more pressing than _this_?"

"Him actually coming back is rather high on the agenda."

"You said his parents were strict, that isn't _strict_! That's —"

"I _know_ what it is, Lupin!" James even has the gall to sound exasperated.

"Then why didn't you tell me? You should have _told_ me!"

"Whatever _for_?"

"So I would know, so I could _help_!" Is that so impossible to grasp?

"You want to help, do you?" James asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"I just said so, didn't I?" Remus shoots back mulishly.

"Then shut the fuck up about it!" James shouts, his eyes overbright. "Shut the fuck up and focus on what's happening _now_!"

"Shut the f— What the hell, James? How can you be so — so— so _uncaring_?"

" _Me_?! Uncaring?" James stares at Remus, shakes his head in disbelief. "You're _oblivious_. You know what? I don't have time for this," he decides, gets to his feet, picks up the paper. "Just drop it, Lupin. Accept it — if he wanted you to know about it, he'd have told you. If he didn't, he's got a reason." He raises his eyebrows, as if to say, "so there."

"Like he tells you _everything_?"

James snorts, shakes his head. He somehow manages to make that feel like an insult.

"Okay, first off— _that._ Isn't something he likes to advertise. And second— _What the hell, Remus_? He doesn't _have_ to tell you, or me, or anyone, _anything_ he doesn't want to!"

"Don't be stupid!" Remus snaps. "Just because you have this spell or bond or whatever, doesn't give you the right to decide! You don't speak for him, James!"

"Oh, and you do all of a sudden?"

"He needs _help_! I know _that_ much, where you don't seem to realise it, or care! You _should_ have told me, _he_ should've told me — _I'm his friend too_!"

"You think I'm _hogging_ all the information? Out of what? A wish to make your life _more_ difficult?" James's expression seems to be undecided between affronted sort of disbelief and outright indignant anger. "What do you want to hear?" They're both on their feet now, James's face so close he can feel his breath on his own.

"He jumped off the Astronomy Tower!" Remus shouts back. "He tried to kill himself!"

"He couldn't string two coherent thoughts together— He acted out of impulse! Don't blow this out of proportion!"

"Oh yeah, like _that's_ so much better! It wasn't suicide, just suicidal tendencies, that's perfectly _normal_!"

"That's not even the half of it, Lupin—"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure _you_ know the full story."

"You know what? Sod it!" James tosses the paper down, earnestly angry. "His father beat him bloody for days because he ridiculed them when it became clear he _wouldn't_ turn into a werewolf— because he _wouldn't_ tell _what fucking bit him!_ They obliviated him a bunch of times and he didn't know which way was up and which way was down for _weeks,_ he's been remembering bits and pieces ever since! And let's not forget those bloody Healers — they fucking _experimented on him_ , Remus!" James is pacing up and down, getting ever louder, ever more frustrated. His voice, that traitorous, changing thing, cracks and squeaks here and there. It doesn't help Remus out of his mounting shock.

"They put bars of silver _in_ him to find out exactly when he'd get blood poisoning! They tested potions on him! And on the moon, they shackled him with silver chains, with fucking _spikes_ through his wrists and ankles— just in case he _did_ turn, and they were ready with a silver axe to behead him if there was the slightest change! And he nearly did— he can't control the dog when he's in pain! Is that enough for you? Or should I keep going all the way until this _bloody morning_?"

"I— I didn't know." Remus stammers. He isn't sure what he'd expected to hear, but it sure wasn't _this_. He wasn't ever around when the Healers were — Because Sirius asked him not to. He hadn't given it any thought. Sirius hadn't so much as hinted—

"What, did you think they'd just… let him wait out the moon from the comfort of his bed?" It's James's turn to sound bitter. "That they'd pat his hand and tell him it would be all right? They were _toying_ with him, they had people from the Ministry over, to watch the bloody show! And of _course_ his parents were there, front and centre, to make everything even worse! And _no_ , before you ask— He didn't tell me _shit_. I saw it all."

Remus remembers his own first moon, the days leading to it. He'd been looked after by his parents, who wouldn't let anyone near him, moved him to some house in the forest… They protected him the only way they could. But they had never been cruel to him.

He wants to be angry because he was left in the dark about that. But instead he feels terrible.

"Does any of this make you feel closer to him in any way?" James wants to know. He is furious. "Does any of this suddenly make you a better friend, now you know the little details that you missed? Eh? Does it help _him_ , at all, now you _know_?"

"I _want_ to help him!"

"You've got it all wrong Lupin. Sirius is the one helping _you_. He's the one protecting _your arse_ , from the _Ministry_! From _yourself_! Or what, did you think you suddenly stopped biting yourself because you bloody _control_ it? W— He's been at it for longer than you _think_. _That's_ the real reason he returned beaten black and blue. _That's_ why he had to sit through hours of Dumbledore every _fucking_ morning trying to pry a single thought of _you_ from his head! Because that twinkling coot sure as _hell_ suspects you bit him.

"But you didn't even _ask_ about that, did you? You didn't even stop to wonder." There's definite reproach in James's tone there, and it makes Remus bristle. Mostly because it's true, he _hadn't_. But — calling him ungrateful, even if it's implied… That is a _stretch_.

"If _you're_ standing here at all, it's because _he_ put up with all of that!" James snaps. "So don't come to me with why didn't you tell me's and you should have's. And don't you _dare_ call me uncaring, Lupin. If anyone's been with him every step of the way—"

"Yeah, because you share a fucking brain, let's not forget about _that_ for a second. Hip hip hooray." Remus says bitterly. "Please, tell me more about what he's doing just now. Is he doing a wee? Or is it a number two? Or, are they trying to kill him like his uncle said they _would_?"

"That's where you went? You're _jealous?"_ James stares at him incredulously, and Remus would like to shout back that no, that isn't it — but he can't.

"This is because you're _jealous_? You know, Lupin, there's _one_ difference between you and me, and it's not the blood bond," James spits out. "It's that I _trust_ him, and he doesn't _need_ to tell me fuck-all because I try to be there for him, like he is for me. Like he is for _you_ , so stop harping on about it, you're pissed at yourself because you didn't see it before— and _that_ isn't Sirius's fault. Or mine.

"And don't you _dare_ joke about him dying. He'll be lucky if he's still around in the morning, after what he did today." James turns furiously on his heel and storms up to their dormitory, leaving a wretched, furiously crying Remus behind.

.

* * *

.

Remus catches the morning paper, just as James sits down next to him for breakfast.

"Alright?" James asks tensely. Remus shrugs one shoulder. He still holds a grudge, but James was right — it's not something they should focus on, right now.

"I'm sorry," he says earnestly. "I really am. I shouldn't have said those things."

"Yeah," says James grimly, but no less sincerely. "That's me as well."

There's a short pause. They've never been good at those.

"I got through to him last night," James breaks the silence hesitantly. "He didn't say much, just that he's got a plan so cunning, you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel. And to wish him luck."

Remus groans. Every time Sirius says those words, he gets in over his head. Without fail.

"Precisely. Let's see what's on there," James prompts, and Remus unfurls the paper.

December 12, 1973.

 _ORION BLACK LAID OUT IN STATE WHILE BLACK HEIR DEMANDS MURDER INQUIRY — AND MISTRIAL INQUIRY_ , the headline proclaims.

"Oh, shit," says Remus.

"Bugger me backwards," says James.

The picture shows Sirius levitating a shining bier — apparently, they have plenty of those in the Black household — towards an enormous Iron-Age hill-fort with tall carved columns in black marble.

Of course, the Blacks don't _do_ cemeteries. They have to have an entire bloody _hill_ to themselves. Talk about overcompensating.

The article, while it does the job of letting everyone know about viewing times and dates (the Blacks have decided to lay the body out in state for the entire week and hold the funeral on Saturday), veers sharply off-topic to centre exclusively on Sirius.

Sirius looks tired on the second picture, where he is shown putting the final touches to his father's vault deep inside the mausoleum, but he doesn't seem to be in low spirits at all: he actually approaches the camera with something resembling his usual grace, speaks to a reporter, gives her a small smile.

 _"_ _I'm just glad_ that _is over— and I am_ so _grateful to_ all _my cousins and uncles and aunts,"_ the article quotes. _"It was so_ difficult _for us all, you know, we don't use magic for this, and everyone had to pitch in at some point. But I think we did a fair job, he almost looks like himself — well, we didn't_ quite _manage to get the jaw to line up, but other than that I believe he is ready for everyone to come and pay their respects."_

 _When confronted with his father's suspected evidence-tampering to sentence a Muggleborn, Sirius responded, "Even if that were the case, I would like to know the truth. If there was a mistrial, then that would mean something needs to change so that this sort of thing doesn't happen again. And if Father was guilty, I'd say we owe the Franklins, and all wizards and witches who aren't considered of pure descent, a slew of apologies — since he cannot answer for himself," he stated with a mournful smile._

 _When asked why he thought it important, the young heir stated: "We're at war, so loads of things get taken the wrong way. I'm just trying to straighten things out, to get a clear picture and this archaic prejudice out of the way. How will this war_ ever _end if we don't stop looking at everyone's family tree and use that to blame them for things?"_

 _In a community split asunder by the current war and increasingly aggressive blood politics, even at his young age, Sirius Black is proving that he is more level-headed than his whole family, who have already made heavily-worded declarations against Muggleborn witches and wizards (see pages 6-14), and perhaps, upon his ascension to the head of this incredibly influential family, he will succeed in turning the tide and establish a more tolerant Pureblood position towards an important, ever-growing sector of our society._

 _His statements, while shocking to many of the stauncher blood purity supporters, have certainly earned him the favour of the greater part of the Wizarding Community, and this reporter at least will look eagerly forward to the day when he takes up his father's mantle._

"He's going for it," James says in disbelief. "He's going _against_ those rotters."

Remus isn't sure if James sounds admiring or despairing just then. He isn't sure of his own feelings on the matter, either. He's known for ages what Sirius thinks about blood status — a load of rot — and even about magical creatures, such as himself — the absolute height of cool — and he found out long ago what his family's position is on the matter.

It's what Sirius is doing _right now_ what he can't understand. His uncle warned him they'd try to kill him, and he seems to be fanning the flames every chance he gets, as if he's daring them to.

That, at least, is absolutely _Sirius_.

"Guys, listen up!" James's voice rings around the Great Hall, and when he looks up, Remus sees James is standing on the table. "We need a House assembly. Now!"

.

* * *

.

"We've got a problem," James tells everyone from his perch on the backrest of a couch. "You all know how Sirius gets on with his family."

Laughter fills the Common Room. Everyone has witnessed at least one hallway duel, insult battle, a prank directed a tad too clearly at the Blacks in Slytherin House.

"And I'm sure most of you read how he just spoke out for Muggleborns and Half-bloods—"

" _Yeah_!" someone yells in the back, and everyone joins in.

"That's the opposite reaction he's getting from his family, probably even as we speak," says James.

"But they were all kneeling and things yesterday!" Calls Barb Townsend, a Muggleborn Second Year.

"That was just the first test—"

"Test?"

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Okay, okay, I'll explain— it's this _very_ old ritual, and it has four parts," James tells them, nods at Peter, who is only just shuffling downstairs with a handful of late-comers. "The first bit you saw, it's called the Elevation, where the heir must accept his new position. The instant the reigning Black dies, the family leave him where he is and all of them go to see the next in line. And the heir is then elevated, from heir to successor. What you might not know is that, if he doesn't take the job, or is rejected, he is killed on the spot."

The Common Room is so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

"If there are others present, the ritual demands a show of support — that's what we did when we knelt. If we hadn't, even if he accepted the position… maybe his Succession wouldn't be very good.

"The next step is what you already sort of know— he had to pick up his father's body and prepare him for the state funeral, then guard it until the burial."

"What, day and night?" Helen Courtney asks.

"Him and six others," James confirms. "He also has to receive oaths of allegiance from the High Houses and the Sacred Twenty-Eight and a bunch of others, and host the send-off feasts…"

"So he won't sleep?"

"I… suppose, but I don't know," James admits.

"If it's a test, though..." Fabian shrugs at them.

"That's so _backward_." Trust Evans to hit the nail on the head.

"All old rituals are like that, though, aren't they?" Alice retorts.

"How long does _that_ last?"

"It depends on how many people go pay their respects," Frank tells them. "It's the same in my family, only _we_ don't kill anyone." Nobody laughs at the feeble joke.

"Yeah," James agrees. "It could go on for days. The Blacks expect purebloods to… to _be_ there. Who of us are going?"

"Not us," says Frank. "We've had a feud with the Blacks for like, generations."

"Talk to your mother," James tells him. "It's not to pay your respects to his father— it's to show the Blacks your family would support _Sirius_."

"Let me guess, if attendance is low…" Frank doesn't finish, but everyone gets the message.

"I don't know what they'd do," James admits. "But Sirius said something about… it being important for the Successio Ritual, that's the one that happens the day after the burial. He's got to be found worthy by his ancestors, the ghosts who are around the place where they hold it or something… if he's found worthy, he gets to drink from this chalice and it will be filled with wine and he'll pass the test. If not, it will be filled with poison."

"They're really obsessed with death, aren't they?"

"If he passes his Succession, then the next date of power is set for the Accession, that would be on the Yule. That's when he becomes The Black and they couldn't do anything to go against him anymore. I'm not sure what that ritual entails, but he's fairly certain that if he gets past the Succession, he could actually make it the whole way."

"So if we go—" Kingsley begins, nodding.

"If everyone who is a pureblood or a half-blood goes, shows their support— he might stand a chance."

"I heard Bellatrix Black say he wouldn't make it to his accession, she said they'd eat him up alive," a tiny voice pipes up. Everyone turns to look at Rose O'Rourke, a First-Year girl who looks like she's seven years old. "I didn't know what she meant, or I'd have told you sooner."

"What can we do?" Benjy Fenwick asks at once.

"Call your families, go to the funeral— that way we'd at least know how he's doing."

"Come off it, he's as bad as they are," Lily Evans protests. "He's just another stuck-up entitled kid from an old family, and the Blacks all hate _our_ kind. Why should we help him?"

"Because we're at war," James argues. " _And_ we know which side Sirius is on— it's not theirs, and _that's_ the problem."

Mutters start rising, as kids begin to talk amongst themselves, and James begins to look worried. Not everyone seems convinced, and Remus understands that what he's asking may be a bit much.

"Look, you don't have to do it if you don't want to. But if your family is going, or thinking of going, at least tell us how he's holding up when you get back."

"It's that old axiom, isn't it?" Frank says next in his carrying Prefect voice, and the babble dies down. "It's just like that story of the lion in the snake pit."

"The only one brave enough to get him out was…" Alice prompts.

"Another lion!" The Gryffindors chorus, and James gives them a grateful look.

"Can us Muggleborns go?"

"Muggleborns would be turned out at the gate," says Kingsley Shacklebolt. He has to stand on a table to make himself heard. "My dad's department has standing orders. But I'm going, James. First thing tomorrow."

"Us as well," says Peter. "Gran hates the Blacks, but she loves get-togethers."

This makes the Gryffindors laugh.

"Can we organise it so we don't all show up at the same time?" James asks. "Dad said he wants to go tomorrow as well. I'll tell him to move it to Friday."

"I'll talk to Mother," Frank promises. "She won't like it, but she understands Gryffindors must stick together."

"Whoever isn't going can send owls, though," James suggests, hopeful again. "Send your condolences, show your support, get others to do it too," he seems to have found his second wind. "These are snakes, and you know that for snakes, appearances are everything. Even if they hate Sirius—"

"They won't do _anything_ if he's got the Wizarding Community's support," Remus finishes for him, catching on. That's actually clever.

A flurry of activity grips the Gryffindors next: The Floo grate keeps flaring up green as kids call their parents, organise their visits to be spread out when they go to Orion Black's funeral; owls fly to and fro, bearing letters and scrolls and cards. Everyone looks purposeful, even the Muggleborns pitch in where they can, preparing care packages the older students transfigure into flowers, for the purebloods to give Sirius.

.

* * *

.

Hogwarts begins to see the exodus the very next day. Pureblood families, even some Half-Blood families, come by the castle daily, to pick up their children before heading for Blackmore End, all jockeying for a position, for an invitation to the evening's dinner parties, for a claim that they, too, were a part of history in the making.

During breakfast every day, the Great Hall is filled with the sound of wings and hooting. More owls than even on September second fill the air, dropping off parcels with dress robes, thank-you notes for the condolences in Sirius's unmistakable Edwardian script, and special funerary editions from just about every periodical imaginable.

From cooking magazines to Knit-2-Charm, they are consistent with the paper — the press all sing songs of praise about Sirius, extolling his many good qualities, saying how the "hooligan prince" (as he was known before), has grown into his role with a grace they can't believe. They _love_ to mention he's the first Gryffindor in the family, remind the public of the show of support at Hogwarts, of his advocacy of blood status equality and his opinions on everything from werewolves — it's an oft-asked question, to which the reply is invariably: "They're only dangerous one or two nights a month, they're perfectly normal people the rest of the time. Kind of like witches, and I don't see us shunning _them_. Why should we punish werewolves for an accident? It's not like they asked to get bitten, is it? I got lucky, but if I hadn't, this would be the second Black funeral you'd be attending in as many months."

It's relentless, they even ask for his opinion on Quidditch odds for the upcoming season. And Sirius _humours_ them.

The press _loves_ him for it.

"Well," James states a couple of days later, when they are done scrutinising every word, every picture they could get their hands on. "At least we know what he is up to in his spare time." He snorts, shakes his head like he can't quite believe it. "His plan just might work. He's got the press wrapped around his little finger."

Peter goes on Thursday.

"It's _horrible_ ," he tells them upon returning, the same thing everyone has said. "He's… they tried to make him look kind of human… He's revolting, though."

"Who cares about that bastard? What about Sirius?" James wants to know. "Did you see him?"

"Just for a minute. There were loads of people crammed into this tiny little vault, deep inside the hill," Peter says. "He looked at me like he couldn't recognise me at all, at first, and when he did, he just said, "Thank you for coming, Peter." And when he shook my hand, he was sort of twitching."

The following morning, James dresses up in funeral robes and leaves before breakfast, with the firm promise to bring back more than just, "thank you for coming, James."

Remus has to give him that — he _does_ bring back an apology from Sirius for blanking Peter, the promise he'll do his best to return on the Yule. According to James, he looks exhausted, but he's honestly all right, and he thinks he might just make it.

"The Yule is a week from now," Remus mutters.

"A _lot_ can go wrong in a week," Peter says.

"Yeah. And we won't even get to see him before then."

.

* * *

.

As the three of them find out, turns out it doesn't even take a week.

The very next day — the day of Orion's burial — Peter and James return from the kitchens, where they procured some snacks for the entire House, who have all gathered to listen to the live transmission. Only Blacks are allowed into the vaults for the funeral, but they are all expecting Sirius to come out any minute now, and make some veiled sarcastic remarks about it all like he has all week.

"So, that's twenty-three chocolate eclairs, thirty-two vanilla, two plates of cookies and a—" James makes a strange noise in the back of his throat, as though he's trying to hiccough. Some of them laugh at his comical expression, thinking it's just another prank – but it dies a moment later when he collapses on the floor in a boneless heap, snacks and plates and jars crashing down around him.

Alice and Caradoc reach his side first, and for a few eternal moments, no amount of shaking and slapping seems to help, and as they all try to lend a hand, it becomes pure chaos.

"James! James, wake up!"

"Stop hitting him, Evans!"

"Ennervate!"

"He's not stunned, you idiot—"

"Like you can do any better!"

"We've got to get him to the nurse!"

"We've got to get the nurse _here_!"

"Move aside, let him breathe—"

"Is he even breathing?"

"I can't tell! Can you tell?"

"JUST GET THE NURSE!"

Fabian and Gideon both tear off at a run, leaving the rest of the House in a panic.

"Did he eat anything?"

"No, he was perfectly all right a second ago! You all saw!"

"Lift his legs up, Dearborn!"

"Remus, get out of the way—I've got him, you check if he's breathing."

"James? James, this isn't funny anymore. Wake up!"

" _THIS IS A SPECIAL EMERGENCY REPORT_ —" the wireless, perpetually on in Gryffindor House, makes them jump. " _MERE MINUTES AGO, A TERRIBLE CAVE-IN OCCURRED IN THE BLACK FAMILY MAUSOLEUM. BLACKMORE HILL SEEMS TO HAVE COLLAPSED MERE MOMENTS AFTER THE PRIVATE FUNERAL SERVICE ENDED — MOST OF THE FAMILY MANAGED TO ESCAPE THE DISASTER, BUT SIRIUS BLACK IS CURRENTLY STILL MISSING, AND THOUGHT TO HAVE PERISHED. I REPEAT — THIS IS A SPECIAL EMERGENCY REPORT…_ "

.

* * *

.

To be continued… Soon. In the meantime, why not tell me what you think of it so far?

 **Next up:** We get to see what happened in Blackmore End, James does, indeed, wake up, there's a boatload of other stuff going on, but then there's the Yule, and Christmas hols, and the moon. If everything goes alright. Which I cannot guarantee.

.


	6. Long Live The Black

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Crown, of course, but they did inspire this whole thing. And the Borgias, Henry VIII and let's not forget Count Vlad (blah blah blah). I tried to sort of replicate the style of the 50s BBC radio news too, so just imagine the upbeat voices and things.

* * *

 **A/N:** Apologies in advance if this one seems to drag. I meant to sort of summarise it, but this thing became another and escalated and no way Remus wasn't going to be a part of it. I solemnly swear there's a point to all of this!

* * *

 **In this chapter:** James and Remus make a good team, Peter is a good friend, Sirius is incredibly accident-prone, incredibly lucky only not at all, and his cray is contagious — annnnd Christmas finally arrives and brings us all a breather.

…

Just kidding.

You don't come here to read about breathers, do you.

.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **Winter Moon Again Pt.2: The Black Is Dead [Long Live The Black]**

* * *

 _._

 _Saturday December 15, 1973_

 _BLACKMORE END CAVES IN, BLACK HEIR GIVEN UP FOR DEAD_

Remus stares at the Prophet in a deadened sort of daze. He is still unwilling to believe his eyes, the shock of the news made worse by James' mysterious breakdown. Next to him, Peter is watching James, but there has been no change for hours, not since he started breathing again with a shuddering gasp — because he hadn't been — and that was even before Pomfrey got to him.

The Nurse told the panicked Gryffindors there was _nothing_ wrong with James — no poisoning, no hex, no illness or injury that she could find. He was just out of it, and there was no explanation for it at all. Other than watching him to make sure he is still breathing, there isn't anything anyone can do for him just now.

This is also why Remus and Peter are at the Hospital Wing, but Pomfrey told them she would take over watching him so they could grab a bite by dinner time.

Remus isn't hungry. He isn't going anywhere, either.

James won't take the news well, and Remus is already dreading having to break it to him. Peter won't, he's terrified of making it worse, but honestly — it doesn't get any worse than this, right?

He turns his attention to the paper once more, which is crumpled from the death grip he and Pete held it in at first. Remus hasn't read anything except the headline. What he can't tear his eyes from, is the photograph, which shows the moment the hill of Blackmore End became an enormous sinkhole.

The now-familiar hill where days earlier Sirius levitated his father's body through the elaborately-carved entrance suddenly implodes, a cloud of dust flies up and bursts forth from the entrance tunnel, from which screaming Blacks rush out, running for their lives.

All… except one.

There are other pictures: one where Sirius' mother is shown in tears and looking so earnestly devastated as she searches the rubble for survivors, hurriedly checks some black-robed children over, it makes Remus almost feel bad for her — until he remembers her words in the Hospital Wing and that it's all an act; there's another, on which a frantic Regulus screams and makes a bid for what's left of the tunnel while an elderly wizard holds him back, which most definitely is not pretend. Remus doesn't have to be a lip-reader to understand what he is shouting: _Sirius is still inside! Mother! Mother! He did not come out!_

There's yet another, showing a sea of people trying to dislodge the boulders from the blocked entrance tunnel, in a silent, frenetic bid for hope.

According to the caption, the place is so heavily steeped in magic, that it's fighting their rescue efforts — they are really looking for a body, not for survivors.

" _We are all terribly devastated by cousin Sirius' death_ ," Bellatrix is quoted in the paper when he finally brings himself to read. It's surreal, after years hearing her call Sirius a blood-traitor, calling him filth, shrieking out curses and hexes at him that no Seventh-Year has any business knowing, now she's in charge of announcing his death to the world.

" _Nobody was ready for it, we had just sealed Uncle Orion's vault… Everything just collapsed, shattered. Sirius was the last to leave the vault, after lighting the eternal torches for his father, and we believe it was this what caused the cave-in — there was this gift that was left for Uncle Orion, a crate full of dragonstones that was placed close by. And you know how flammable those are. We are ourselves lucky to have escaped, it was dreadfully hot and hard to breathe, and we were near the exit when it happened. It is such a tragedy, so soon after Uncle Orion's passing._ "

A strangled sort of gasp makes Remus give a start, the paper clutched in one hand as he leaps to James' side. Only, when he gets there, he has no idea what to do.

"He can't breathe! _Madam Pomfrey_!" Peter shouts as he rushes away to get the Nurse, while Remus catches James in his arms. James is struggling against some invisible kind of _thing_ , pushing at nothing and gasping raggedly and very loudly for air without much success.

"James, can you hear me?" Remus asks, trying to keep him from falling off the bed.

"Can't— _can't breathe_ ," James wheezes out weakly, but then his eyes wander to fix themselves on Remus'. "Need— _spell_." James is suddenly gripping the front of Remus' robes desperately.

"What?"

"S-s-spell, need spellneedspellspell—" James sounds delirious.

"What spell?" Remus asks, his anxiety quickly mounting. "Who did this to you?"

"C-c-can't… can't move —" his voice comes in tiny whistling bursts, every inhale a painful struggle.

"What kind of spell—" Remus starts, but then revises. "Hold on, here comes Pomfrey. She will help you. Just hold on, James—"

James grips him tighter, stares straight at him. He is panicking, as frantic as Remus himself feels.

"Can't _move_ — can't… _spell_ need spell!"

"Oh dear, _oh dear,_ " Madam Pomfrey has arrived, and she tries to pry James from the death grip he's got Remus in.

"Help—" James' voice is so thin it's barely audible. "Need… need…" He needs air, that much is clear. "Can't move, _can't breathe_ can't can't Moo… Moony…"

This makes Remus freeze. _What_ did he just call him?

"Just a second, Potter!" Madam Pomfrey yells, and a moment later James falls back on the bed, completely unconscious, a bubble around his head, his airway magically opened to let him breathe. Pomfrey runs her diagnostic charms one after the other, but even past his shock, Remus can tell the results are nowhere close to what she's expecting.

"This _can't be_ — there's nothing wrong with his airway at all." The Nurse seems at a loss, which isn't a common occurrence. She gives him a sedative, to let him rest, but, "I have no idea what's wrong."

"What can we _do_ , Madam Pomfrey?" asks Peter.

"I'll call the Headmaster— for now, all we can do is keep him comfortable and make sure he does not stop breathing. It must be shock..." she mutters, hurries out to call the Headmaster. "He was close to the Black boy, that's probably it."

He and Peter are asked to step away when the Headmaster arrives, but not even Dumbledore, whom Remus was placing all his hopes on, can find anything wrong except what they can all see; despite the sedative potion, James' fingers keep gripping at air, his face a grimace of deep discomfort. He seizes up… and whenever he looks remotely like he'll wake, he invariably runs out of air, his breath comes in hitched, whistling wheezes.

The mournful looks Dumbledore gives Remus and Peter as he steps out of the Hospital Wing only echo their own shock and disbelief.

The experience is nerve-racking; James wakes up at random, fighting Pomfrey's sedatives and potions, and every time it's disturbing: Sometimes he'll scream — thus proving there's nothing wrong with his lung power — other times he'll shout, "Let me out! Let me out!", but whenever he catches a glimpse of Remus, he invariably gasps out the same words, tells him that he needs a spell, calls him Moony.

Only Sirius ever did that, and it makes Remus' throat close over.

Peter has been uncharacteristically quiet, staring at his feet and looking lost as he and Remus just sit there, without a clue what to do. He even refused to get dinner — which tells Remus without a doubt how upset little Peter really is.

Pomfrey sends them to the Great Hall anyway, tells them to get some fresh air at least — she'll watch over James, allows them to return afterwards.

In the Great Hall, spirits are low. Gryffindor banners with a black stripe hang from the ceiling, and Remus wonders if they found Sirius' body, his heart sinking another notch. His hands are trembling as he sits at the Gryffindor table with Peter.

"Did they find him?" he asks hollowly. Frank Longbottom, who took it onto himself to usher him and Peter to sit down, shakes his head.

"No, not yet. They announced it, though — here." A single page of the Prophet makes its way to them. This time, the front page is dominated not by Sirius' face, but his brother's. All Remus can think of, is how much like Sirius he looks, only it's all… _wrong_ — the nose, the eyes, the chin… the look of sheer devastation that drives the point home further: Sirius died earlier, no matter what Remus would like to believe instead.

The Blacks wasted no time announcing the new heir, his Elevation ceremony is to take place at ten at night— the rescuers are confident they will have found Sirius' body before then.

"The WWN is giving hourly updates, and they'll cover the Elevation too, later," Frank tells them. "At least then we'll know what they find."

Peter says he'll go to sit by James' side for a bit, and the Prewett twins offer to go with him. Remus accepts the help, he is too frayed for words. It is finally sinking in — Sirius _is_ dead. His uncle's words come back, like a daunting prophecy that was just fulfilled — _"You have to bury Orion before they can bury you."_

And that is literally what happened. They probably think it's poetic justice or something.

"I'll be there as soon as I hear anything," he promises Peter. He can't face James yet. Not until they know for sure, but Remus isn't holding out any hopes.

"I'll send word if he wakes up."

Remus nods tightly, makes his way to the Seventh Floor in a daze. The many flights of stairs and the long walk don't help him clear his head at all — every corner he turns, everywhere he looks, holds memories of Sirius, and the Common Room makes it even worse. There is little hope for a respite when he comes to a halt next to his favourite armchair, however: the wireless, perpetually on and magically amplified, blares an ongoing report about the rescue efforts in Blackmore End — and they have yielded nothing, _nothing_.

The Gryffindors trickle in in twos and threes. Some pat Remus on the shoulder, try to offer some manner of comfort, but most seem to be in a similar state to his own: mournful looks are all they exchange.

Over in Blackmore End, the Blacks are getting ready for something else entirely, as Asher Burbage announces — they have declared tomorrow a day of mourning for Sirius, and Regulus' Elevation is about to begin.

Walburga's voice, cracked and trembling with what sounds like grief, is the first thing that drives the point home at last, Sirius is _gone_.

" _… We are shattered, as a family and as a people,_ " she says with a little sob. " _But our rules are nothing if not clear. Today, I give you Regulus Arcturus Black the First, who by blood and by— by birth—_ " loud coughing makes the Gryffindors stop what they're doing and focus on the wireless. " _Birthright_ ," Walburga resumes, suppressing another cough. " _And he is now elevated to the Hea_ —" There's a horrible choking sound. " _Elevated to the Head of_ —"

Walburga cannot go on.

" _There must always be a Black to— to— to rule_ ," she gags, coughs, amid a growing noise in the background. Remus belatedly realises it's the coughing and choking sounds of a _crowd_.

"He's not dead, _Mother_!" A child's voice breaks through, clear and loud and squeaky. Regulus sounds hysterical, filled with a blood-chilling sort of _hope_. " _We must keep looking, I know he was right behi_ —" Regulus' voice is cut off, replaced by one of a thousand mournful songs that are the only thing the WWN plays of late.

" _The Elevation Ritual has been interrupted for unknown reasons_ ," Asher Burbage's voice comes an instant later, still with the song as a backdrop. " _The Black family's spokeswitch, Bellatrix Black, will give us a statement shortly_."

Remus buries his face in his hands, a sob escapes him at last.

His mind, which he's tried to keep from thinking about Sirius all day, suddenly flashes image after image at him. Sirius, falling from the Tower, Sirius' face outside the Willow, peeking at him through the roots. Sirius turning into the Dog, bounding around him with that contagious brand of joy — Sirius, tossing chewtoys at him, trying to teach him to play fetch, trying to teach him manners during the Moon, trying to show him a squirrel's elusive scent in the forest… that ridiculous name he gave him: _Moony_. As if he were some fluffy plush toy and not a deadly monster. Sirius was never afraid of him.

 _You've got to learn to share, Moony. Not everything's automatically yours just because you want it. Now, this here is_ my _half of the cow leg. That one's_ yours.

Somehow, Sirius _knew_. He knew how Remus' mind worked, what the wolf needed, all this time. He can still hear him, during the last Moon — talking to the perplexed wolf, who couldn't understand how this prey kept disappearing every time he tried to bite it.

 _It's not that hard, Moony, I'm sure you can figure it out. Just try._

He curses these new memories, curses Sirius for helping him keep his mind as the wolf, curses the packmate he had for only a handful of moons, now _lost, lost, lost_. He curses and cherishes his recollections, he misses and pines and _needs_ all at once, and it grips his heart and his lungs and _crushes, crushes, crushes_ until his breaths come every bit as wheezy and ragged as James'.

He's never felt loss like this before— and it _hurts_.

" _We are all torn asunder with grief,_ " Bellatrix' voice tells him from the wireless— and is it him or does it sound too insincere to be _allowed_? It hasn't been seven hours, and already the Blacks are… " _Preparing for the Elevatio Ritual has proven harder than we expected. Regulus is still very young, and he believes Sirius to be still alive. We have rescheduled it for tomorrow morning, to allow him to come to terms with the harrowing loss… of his brother_."

 _It's a load of bullshit_ , says the wolf. It has been quiet all day, angry at the loss of its packmate, but now it growls deep inside him. _They're waiting for him to die_.

If there's one thing the wolf never does, is lie.

 _It's not that hard, Moony. I'm sure you can figure it out,_ Sirius' voice tells him cheerfully. _Just try._

Remus freezes mid-sob.

Everything suddenly slams into him so forcefully, he sees stars.

 _We are bonded, mind, body and soul... If he is hurt, I feel it_ , James' voice echoes in his head. And James collapsed _moments_ before the WWN announced—

 _Need spell_ , James' ragged wheeze comes to him again. _Can't move—_

 _Shite_. All blood drains from Remus' face.

 _Can't breathe— Moony_.

No-one ever calls him that. No-one except _Sirius_.

 _He's not dead, Mother_! Regulus' voice shrieks in his head. He's not hysterical — Sirius' brother _isn't_ in denial. Regulus _knows_. They _couldn't_ do the Ritual, because…

 _There must always be a Black to rule._

 _They couldn't say the words_. They couldn't because—

 _I'm sure you can figure it out._

 _"_ _FRANK_!" Remus shouts, making the entire Common Room jump. Frank gives Remus a confused look, but there's no time for explanations he can't provide.

"If you were trapped in a cave-in, what spells would you use to get out of it?" he asks, speaking very fast.

"Lupin, _what_?"

" _JUST TELL ME_!" Remus is frantic, looks around at the sea of faces staring at him. "Come _on_! What spells would you use if you were trapped? _NOW_ , PEOPLE!"

"An Obliteration Curse could do the trick—" Frank says, confused.

"Yeah, if you want to get the rest of the hill to fall on you," Evans says. "I'd use a Digging Charm."

"What about just levitating the rocks out of the way?" Kingsley asks from his usual table.

"Well if I were a Firstie like you, sure—" Alice tells him with a wink.

"What about a Demolition Curse?" Seventh-Year Benjy suggests. "Why do you ask, Lupin…? _Lupin_?"

But Remus is already gone, taking every shortcut he can to the Hospital Wing as fast as he can bring his legs to carry him, nearly barrels over Pete and the Prewett twins in his bid to get to James.

" _Whoa_ , Lupin—" Fabian — or Gideon — steadies him as he tries to skid to a halt.

"Watch it!" Gideon — or Fabian — yelps when Remus' momentum carries him too far and he slams into him.

"What happened?" Peter wants to know at once.

"He's not dead— I need James!" Remus gasps, out of breath, as the twins help him to his feet and he's shaking, why is he shaking? "Keep Pomfrey away, don't let her come out here!"

If Fabian and Gideon are confused, they don't let it on. They make for the Nurse's office at once, with identical grins. Or maybe they just really like the idea of stopping her from doing her job. Peter nods and hurries after them, but Remus yanks him back.

"What did she give him?!" he asks, there's at least ten potions on the bedside table, he doesn't have _time_ for this.

"Just a sedative."

"Which one is the antidote?"

"Uh… I think it might be—"

" _HURRY_ , PETER!" Remus shouts, makes his chubby friend jump.

"Come on, _come on_ ," Remus pats James' face, while Peter looks for the antidote to whatever sedative he has been given. He pours it into James' mouth with trembling hands.

"James wake up," Remus prompts, shakes him, slaps him, shakes some more. In the background, Remus can hear Pomfrey trying to leave her office, Fabian's voice trying to come up with an excuse for why the door is jammed.

"I'll hold her off," Peter says, grabs a potion and downs it in three swigs. _"Oooh_ ," he moans, doubling over. "That one wasn't a good idea—"

He hobbles away even as Remus casts a Silencing Charm on James' curtains. A moment later, his eyes flutter open. James squints at the world in confusion.

"Remus? What—" he starts thickly. "What… happened? _Ugh_. My head hurts—"

" _No_ ," Remus breathes, his heart sinking. He was _sure_ James was doing the mind trick, but this _isn't_ Sirius. This is pure James. "James, you have to try to connect with Sirius. _Try_."

"There's nothing." James sits up in bed dizzily, tries to focus. "I felt— I felt— _oh gods_." He goes very pale, very fast. Stares at Remus in dismay. "Gods, _no_ —"

"He's not dead," Remus assures him, hopes he's not lying. "He's _not_ , James—"

"He was… He's somewhere dark, he can't… can't breathe," James swallows, panics as his mind catches up with him. "He can't _move_ , Remus— I tried to tell you! He tried to— _what happened_?" he is making to get up, but then he stiffens, draws a rattling breath, chokes on his words.

Remus would never have thought he'd be relieved that his best mate suddenly can't breathe.

" _Sirius_! You've got to get out of there," Remus yells, gripping James' shoulders as he falls back onto the bed, well on his way to passing out again. "If you can hear me, you've got to _try_!"

"Can't…" James wheezes weakly. "So tired, Moony… I can't—"

" _Try, Sirius_! Blast it apart, you've got to! The spells, try levitating, or obliterating the cave-in, or dig yourself out— you must try!" Remus is heaving for breath as much as James is struggling to form words.

"Tired." James mouths it, then goes limp.

"Sirius?" Remus shakes James, his heart on a free-fall. "Sirius, _answer me_!"

But James is out of it again.

Remus ignores the shouts all around him, as Pomfrey kicks the Prewett twins out of the Hospital Wing, sticks Peter in a bed to reverse the effects of whatever potion he took.

He was too late.

All his talk about wanting to help, and he didn't connect one thing with the other all day, when Sirius was trying to _tell him_ , and he went and — _gods_ , could he be any slower in the uptake?

James wakes up for good around eleven. Remus, who has stubbornly stayed by his side despite Pomfrey's angry remonstrations, tries to coax him into connecting with Sirius again, and he tries — but as he puts it, all he sees is a void where Sirius used to be. He can't reach out.

It's a frightening notion.

Now James is awake, though, another aspect of their bond reveals itself: he's jumpy and frightened, glancing every which way as though expecting the ceiling to come crashing down on his head too, flinches whenever Remus raises his voice— it takes Remus the better part of an hour to convince him where he is, longer still to explain what happened.

He stares uncomprehendingly at the paper in much the same way Remus himself did for the better part of the day, but he still has to explain several times what happened before James finally manages to grasp it.

"That's not what I saw," he tells Remus. "It was dark long before. That's not what happened." It's as if he can't believe the story at all. He won't tell what he saw, though, and Remus doesn't push.

The ceaselessly imploding hill rests on his lap, held in shaking hands, the Blacks running and stumbling out in a frenzied panic as the imposing structure collapses in on itself in a cloud of dust.

.

* * *

.

"There's _nothing_ , Remus—" James breaks the silence hours later. It's the middle of the night, and they're both exhausted. Peter snores softly from an adjoining bed, filled with the antidote to what Remus was told was a bad reaction to a curse reverter. Even Pomfrey went to grab some shut-eye, tasked Remus with letting her know if there was any change. "What if he…?"

"No. Maybe he's passed out," Remus insists. He's decided he won't give up on Sirius again so easily. And he won't let James do it, either. "Keep trying, James. That's all we can do. Keep trying."

James does, but each failed attempt hits him harder, hurts him more. Remus presses on, maintains stubbornly Sirius will respond if James just keeps reaching out. Until…

" _Ow_ ," James hisses, holds his midriff.

"What?" Remus' head shoots up.

"I got a _twinge_ —" James looks at him, his ashen face overjoyed. "Remus, he's _alive_!"

 _Relief_ , blessed relief washes over them both. James redoubles his efforts—

"Nothing. I'll keep trying," James assures him. It's like he's found a hidden reserve of energy, all of a sudden.

.

* * *

.

It's past four in the morning when James gets more than a glimpse. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and there's the now expected choked wheezing— which turns into an audible, shuddering intake of breath.

"He can… he can breathe. He shifted the slab."

It's the best news Remus has had all night. James though, seems to have reached his limit — he is frayed and exhausted, and when he falls back onto his pillows, Remus finds himself at a loss. Will their link work if James has fallen asleep? Even if he can breathe, Sirius is still trapped underneath tonnes of rubble.

The clock in the Hospital Wing chimes half past four before Remus dares to move again. He reaches out to shake James— but James' hand shoots out first, sitting up as though fitted with a spring and grabbing onto Remus' front.

"He's out— _he's out_!" he yells, staring into Remus' eyes almost feverishly. "He was— _we_ — we figured it out!" James laughs in disbelief, and Remus joins in, despite being quite lost as to why. "He managed. It _worked_!"

"What did you do?" Remus asks. "Is he okay? Can he—"

"We combined those spells you said… The Levitation charm and the Obliteration Curse, and a Blasting Curse, and he made it dig through the mud, somehow. Not quite sure," James tells him, then frowns. "Hold on— How did you _tell_ him?"

"I told _you_ ," Remus answers, grinning. "He _was listening_ , James. He heard me."

"He did. He's… he was trapped in… the vault door fell on him, crushed the coffin. But he reckons he can walk. _Those bastards_ ," James says vehemently. "They all _knew_ — they left before the funeral was over. Bellatrix locked him in the vault. Blew the place up— Remus, they _said_..."

"He had to bury Orion before they buried him."

"He reckons… he reckons he should have seen it coming." James swallows thickly, slumps back again. "But he also had to light the bloody torches, as part of the ritual. He also says…" James frowns, shakes his head. "He's not making much sense—" James presses his forehead to his knees, so the rest of his words come out muffled. "Something about the ring, and his father, and— you _don't_ want to know how he survived the explosion. Something about a ghost… and water. He's… hes outside now. Looking for his uncle."

Remus' relief begins to crumble. He watches James' drawn face for an eternity.

"He's on the way to St. Mungo's," James says at last, shudders. "His mother got to him first." Remus curses under his breath, but James grins tiredly. "He blasted her about ten feet in the air."

"He's alright, then?"

"Not by half, but he says he'll live. Says thanks, Moony."

"Tell him to get back here and then he can make it up to us."

.

* * *

.

Sunday morning comes with a new headline: _DEADLY CAVE-IN DURING BURIAL CEREMONY — BLACK HEIR THOUGHT DEAD, BARELY SURVIVES_

The first photo shows the now familiar hill turning into a crater. But it's the second, larger one that captures everyone's attention.

This one was taken at night and shows the side of the hill as it explodes, a figure, tiny and covered in mud from head to toe, staggering out from the rubble in a flash of flame that burns brightly blue. The small figure stumbles and slides down the hillside, falls forward on all fours, clearly gasping for breath even as dozens of others run towards it.

The next picture — James insists on keeping it to cheer Sirius up with later — shows Walburga, racing ahead of the group rushing towards what is barely recognisable as Sirius, wraps him in her arms. There is a flash of light, and she is sent flying backwards against a group of witches and wizards in her wake.

Sirius, Remus sees, backs away from her sharply, as wide-eyed as James' has been every time he's woken up. But before the group of witches and wizards can disentangle themselves from each other, Alphard's tall figure reaches his side, speaks to him… and then scoops him up, rushes him away to the Medi-Wizards.

The next picture is again, different — it shows Regulus tackling Sirius at a run, toppling him from the stretcher he was sitting on in his enthusiasm. This, Remus realises, is no act for the press. Regulus is crying and laughing and clinging to him as desperately as they all would, if they had half a chance, and Sirius' own expression morphs into the first true smile he's worn since this all started. He wraps his arms around his little brother, says something that makes the younger boy stop sobbing and nod with a grin and the same sort of relief they all share.

The last picture of Sirius in the morning paper, shows him standing up, supported by his little brother, about to step through an enormous grate. He gives the press a wan, relieved smile, mouths some words, nods weakly at whatever the reporters are saying. Then they both vanish in a flash of green. The caption says he was rushed to St. Mungo's, and that Regulus has been yelling, "I TOLD you! I KNEW he was alive!" whenever asked what he thinks of his brother's survival.

They call it an accident, a sheer miracle Sirius survived, a stroke of fortune that he had the presence of mind to blast his way out of the rubble, because the rescue efforts were misdirected — they were on the other side of the hill. Walburga, who seemingly has not gotten over being blasted by Sirius, claims it's the intricate tunnel system in their Mausoleum what caused the mix-up, and she grudgingly agrees she is glad her son is alive, the blasting spell dismissed as him being shocked by the ordeal, an automatic reaction.

James, Remus and Peter know better.

Sirius doesn't seem to, though, because his statement to the press is, "I think we'll need a new hill for times to come. This one's kaputt." The picture Sirius looks at the camera with a shaken sort of relief, the still-flaming hillside as a backdrop — but Remus does seem to know Sirius Black better than he thought: the hitch in his breath when he speaks, the wide, too-alert eyes darting this way and that, the tightness around his mouth, the quick little gestures he sees in other photographs whenever Sirius moves.

Sirius is panicked.

James agrees with him after a single glance. Peter can't see it, though. He tells them both they're worrywarts, there's nothing different about Sirius at all — and if he's scared, it's _justified_ , because he just _got out from under tonnes of rubble_.

They send Sirius get-well cards, thinking he'll spend a few days in St. Mungo's at least. James tries to get his parents to take them, but they tell him Sirius isn't there anymore. He was there just long enough to get cleaned and patched up, but decided to leave for Blackmore End again immediately the instant he could stand.

In the evening, Sirius' Succession Ritual is transmitted live over the WWN. James seems very unhappy by the end of it, but Remus can't for the life of him figure out why; other than Sirius having to let some blood flow onto an orb or other to prove his right to the title, and then some ghosts droning on about his new responsibility and approving him as a suitable Successor, it seems positively innocuous… the thing seems to have been a success, Sirius drinks from the enchanted chalice and doesn't die horribly but receives a round of applause that is echoed in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Until he has to toast the ceremony.

He is given a goblet to drink from, and as he raises it to toast the Blacks, some spills on the altar, causing a commotion — Acid, the reporter says.

When the evening edition of the Prophet arrives, Remus can see what the wireless didn't quite convey: In the picture, Sirius' nervous tic proves to be the reason he's still alive — he lifts the golden cup towards the Blacks, turns towards the altar to honour his ancestors, when his fingers give a jerk around the goblet as he is raising it.

A few drops of the contents splash on a highly ornate, ancient-looking altar, on the Successor's Cup Sirius drained moments earlier, and the picture makes sure they see it— burning a hole as big as a Quaffle into the priceless ancient artifacts.

Sirius' expression changes from surprise to dismay as he gingerly puts the goblet down on what's left of the altar, says what James deciphers as, "That wine definitely has aged all wrong."

Sirius then decided to forego any further toasting, with a crooked smile Witch Weekly later described as "capable of brightening the most dismal situation" as Walburga loudly lamented the loss of the priceless heirlooms in the background.

In the interview Sirius said lightly, "It was just a mix-up. It can happen to anyone, we're all just _tired_." His eyes are shining a little too brightly, his hands visibly shaking despite the excuses he is making, and why is he even doing that? "Someone confused the Consecrated Carignan with the Conliquesco Concoction," he explains, laughs as if it's the harmless accident it _isn't_.

When asked if he believes there's someone trying to hurt him, he dismisses it and says, "I believe the pantry shouldn't be organised alphabetically. We'll need a new Altar too, though. This one just went the same way as Blackmore Hill." Sirius shrugs, adds, "Well. It was about time we remodelled, all that stuff is too old for words."

James and Remus can't understand why Sirius doesn't get the hell out of there; he has clearly just barely survived another murder attempt, and there's no doubt he is aware of it. If anything, he looks _too_ aware, and even Peter is beginning to think there might be something to it.

The week crawls along slowly, and classes do little to distract Remus from his current worries. Every day, they overanalyse the paper, grab every publication they can get, try not to miss a single special report.

And there are _many_.

Sirius has public appearances everywhere, it seems, and he looks like he's trying to get them all done before his Accession Ritual. James claims it's to avoid spending much time with his family, but Sirius keeps mum about what he's playing at.

If his friends were worried they wouldn't get to hear anything from Sirius before his Accession on the Yule, they were sorely mistaken: He's all over the place, and the press can't get enough of him, so there is no shortage of pictures, articles, even a daily report of his activities on the WWN.

Witch Weekly has proven an invaluable tool — they fill pages upon pages with photographs showing every little thing Sirius does. They even ran a Sirius Special, where he is described as being so charismatic, "he could charm a vulture off a carcass".

The Slytherins mock them as they're clustered around the magazine, call them queers and fairies, but they have no clue what they're really looking for — and the mockery never lasts. Something invariably happens to shut them up, and Remus has glimpsed Peter and James flicking their fingers every time before whoever is mocking them slips, or begins dancing uncontrollably, or gets their lips spelled shut.

Since when, he wonders, can they all do magic without their wands, and why isn't he in on it?

He's learnt his lesson regarding jealousy, though, and resolves to ask them about it later.

"Finally, something interesting," Snape, that mouth-breathing stinker, says on Tuesday evening, reading about Sirius' latest death-defying day over Remus' shoulder and filling the air with the stench of stale laundry, halitosis, and armpit. "I wonder how long he'll last." He doesn't say much of anything else, because his foot is charmed to his mouth the next instant.

"Good one, Pete," James praises, and Peter looks very smug, even as Snape topples over backwards into the Ravenclaw table amid gales of laughter.

That doesn't mean the greasy git is entirely wrong.

No matter where Sirius goes, disaster follows. The cave-in was just the start, and the Prophet labels him the Most Accident-Prone Black Alive by Wednesday. Also, the Luckiest Black Alive, and it's not without reason.

Not a single one of his appearances goes smoothly, and James and Remus have to register their astonishment at the fact not an ounce of the chaos seems to be Sirius' fault. He seems to run into accidents wherever he goes:

During his Succession Dinner at Blackmore End on Sunday, a cursed set of silverware is laid out for him, the knife and fork try to stab him, and the soup plate tries to take his head — Sirius dodges like he would a Bludger, shatters the things in the fireplace where they melt into cursed sludge, orders the goblins to clear the table and set it with regular nonmagical plates and cutlery, saying, "I don't know about you, but I'm still hungry."

The following morning, shortly after Sirius arrives at the Aethonan Races to inaugurate the Annual Steeplechase, the horses spooked and threatened to trample him to death, but miraculously seem to have missed him by inches.

As Sirius put it in an interview moments later, "I always wanted a closer look at the race," then smiles that smile that puts the press firmly in his pocket again. "This was _juuuust_ close enough."

Then, that same evening, while receiving a Cross of Courage in his father's name, the stage blew up just as Sirius was about to receive the award. It turned out to be a misplaced box of wet-start fireworks under the stage that activated when it started to rain, and Sirius pushed Minister Bagnold off the stage an instant before it went up in a multicoloured blast.

He reportedly stuck around to watch the light show, laughing and exclaiming, "That's like my dreams and nightmares becoming _one_." In the picture, even Peter can see he is shaking.

Everything that can go wrong goes wrong, from state dinners with the Minister for Magic where the staircase rug gains a life of its own, a luncheon with the Sacred Twenty-Eight where a Lethifold escaped the Goyles' dungeon. There is an official dinner at Blackmore End with the Nine High Houses, which James, Kingsley, and Frank attend on Wednesday.

"It's bedlam," they tell the Gryffindors when they return late that night. "There was this chandelier, right? It bloody _fell_ onto the middle of the table, right where he was sitting, but somehow the shards didn't hit him or his little brother, or any of us."

"They hit Bellatrix, and Mr. Lestrange, and his mother, and every Black present, though," Kingsley says, and they all laugh, a little nervously. "They were furious, shrieking and things, but Sirius just went on like nothing was the matter."

"He said, "Father never liked that chandelier — maybe he's haunting us. Maybe he's demanding we redecorate the place now he's got to stay here." And he repaired the thing," James tells them, laughing. "Said he was warming up to it and it could stay right there. Then he had the table set again. Told us it happens every so often and not to worry. His mother was so livid, she left. Everything was fun after, though."

Later on, James confides that it's a prank war, or at least, Sirius is treating it as one. Prank wars, Remus can understand. Attempted murder, he cannot, and he can't reconcile the two in his head.

"They're good at hiding it," James tells Remus and Peter, kicking his dress robes under the bed. "but they're shaken up. Much as they're trying to kill him, he's driving them bananas. I overheard Narcissa complaining to one of her cousins that he'd put doxies in her bed, and they can't go anywhere without walls trying to trap them, or the loo snapping at their bums, or their beds walking around the grounds at night with them inside. Apparently Sirius' mother has woken up in the moat twice already, once with the bed clinging to one of the towers like a huge spider."

Much as it makes them laugh, they all agree it's high time Sirius returned.

"His uncle Alphard told my father he and Sirius will take the train back to Hogsmeade right after the Accession, and they'll arrive on the seven o'clock from London," James tells them. "Sirius said he'll try. He doesn't want to stay with them over Christmas."

The second half of the week goes much the same as the start went. When a Chudley Cannons Beater "accidentally" sends a Bludger flying into the stands during a Quidditch match on Thursday, Sirius backhands it with his chair. " _Chudley Cannons games are always so_ interactive!" he laughs when the reporters ask. " _If I just want to enjoy the game, though… let's just say there's a reason why I support Puddlemere United. Their games are loads safer for the spectators._ " His smile has ceased to reach his eyes, but he announces his next appearance to the winds, which they all interpret as an open dare to his family to try and do better next time.

If that is the game he is playing, tonight it will be held at a dangerous venue— the Magical Theatre, where he will attend the premiere of _the Tempest_ , performed by a theatre group comprised mostly of Muggleborns.

"It's as though he wants them to succeed," James mutters.

Almost predictably, the theatre is attacked that night.

Remus figures he'll never get used to the emergency broadcasts on the wireless, and he listens with bated breath as his most insane friend's latest adventure is announced.

As it turns out, Sirius did go to the theatre, but left moments later with the troupe of Muggleborns and most of the attendance to a party during which they did a private performance at the property he claimed as his own, the aptly-named Castle of Black Dog.

When the Death Eaters arrived at the theatre, the place was packed — with Aurors and Hit Wizards.

"He told my dad during Wednesday's dinner," Kingsley announces, after getting a letter from home, letting him know everyone was all right, what really happened. "He overheard some talk suggesting there would be a raid on the premiere."

There's more that doesn't make it to the papers; a rogue animated statue of Orion that tries to kill Sirius at a dinner party at the Burkes', a report of an ashwinder in his room while at the Malfoys for a charity event; a cursed pair of glasses at the opera, which they overhear the Slytherins talking about.

Friday can't come fast enough, but in the end it does. It feels like it's been dog years to Remus, but _finally_ the press announces Sirius' Accession Ritual completed.

All Remus can think of when he sees the photograph on the front page, where Sirius is standing next to his mother, is, he looks exhausted.

Walburga seems to think so too, she adjusts Sirius' posture with a tap of a walking stick that seems disturbingly familiar. Sirius gives a start, and there is that smile again, which seems to make everyone overlook what to his closest friends is obvious— and it is not good news.

James hasn't gotten anything from Sirius since Thursday evening, except some flashes of uncertainty, of dread.

Whatever happened all those miles away, it _didn't_ go as Sirius had planned.

The Accession Ritual is comparatively uneventful. They were in class while it happened, so they had to wait for the Prophet and the afternoon broadcast to get the news. Sirius' expression is downright mischievous as he graciously accepts the title of The Black once and for all. His mother, though, looks regal and happy throughout — and that sends off alarm bells in his friends' heads.

It's the speech what gives it all away.

" _I stand before you on this day, to assume my father's mantle at the head of this Most Noble and Ancient House, in your service and in your stead,_ " they hear Sirius' voice blaring out of a recording on the wireless that afternoon. " _Father was a… forceful wizard. He was steadfast in his beliefs and strong, powerful and unyielding, and for this House, he was the perfect leader._

 _"_ _I am aware I am too…" he pauses, settles for,_ "young _, to hope to fill his position and do him justice, however, as it requires a_ particular _kind of individual to do so in the way you expect… I am_ not _that individual. And thus I have decided to defer to the wisdom and experience of Walburga Cassiopeia Black, whom I hereby name Lady Regent to the House, to be consulted in all matters pertaining to this illustrious family and their holdings, until such a time when I have completed my education at Hogwarts, and attained the strength needed to head this House of Black and keep a promise I made to Father just last month._

 _"_ _For this, I shall henceforth rely on Alphard Betelgeuse Black, not as Steward but for counsel, as Father did, and focus on becoming what this House_ needs _me to be, to steer it towards embracing a_ brighter _future, a future as undying as Gubraithian Fire, to burn away the shadows of this time and light our paths. Thank you all._ "

" _Those were the words spoken by the young Sirius Black this morning, who at fourteen has a weighty task before him, but seems determined to see it through. Applause fills the Founder's Hall in the Ministry of Magic, as—_ "

James curses, switches the wireless off.

"What?" Remus and Peter chorus.

"You _heard_!" James erupts. "He's cut another deal, if that hag's at the head of things. _And_ he's just gone and _threatened_ them openly."

"How?"

"Saying he won't follow in that bastard's footsteps? A brighter future? As in, the _Light_? Becoming what the House needs and that tripe about Gubraithian Fire and burning down the shadows? He's always said the House needs burning down and he'd be only too happy to bring matches to the party. This won't go over well. _Shite_. Just as he was _this_ close."

They take a horseless carriage to Hogsmeade Station, but the seven o'clock train arrives with no Sirius in it.

Neither does the eight o'clock.

Or the nine o'clock.

When they return to the Common Room in a worried sort of silence, it's to hear that the Blacks' carriages on every major train have derailed, or mysteriously detached themselves from the cabooses and fallen off cliffs, or melted with the trains still in motion. Later on, they hear that Black Dog Castle has blown up. The casualties: a handful of elves and one goblin. The culprits: the Death Eaters.

.

* * *

.

Breakfast is a cheerless affair at the Gryffindor Table the following morning.

They keep expecting to read that Sirius slipped and fell in the bath and drowned, or rocks fell from the sky and squashed him, or something equally terrible.

James is taking it particularly hard. He hasn't had so much as a glimpse of Sirius and since last night he's been completely forlorn. This hasn't improved at all, and he stares at his porridge as though he doesn't quite know whether to eat it or throw it at the Slytherins' smug faces.

It doesn't help that all the Blacks at school are back for the end-of-term feast, even Regulus, who is surrounded by kids asking the very thing Remus would dearly like to know. But he only shrugs, says Sirius should be here by now if he was coming at all, but, he adds hopefully, he might spend Christmas at home.

Even Sirius' bloody bird seems to sense something is not right — it keeps fluttering around Remus' head, thwacking him and hopping on him as though it's on fire.

And then, just as the Prophet arrives with no news about Sirius except for a note announcing his departure for Hogwarts and further detailing last night's attacks — the DMLE finally declares all the "accidents" as being aimed at Sirius and blames the Death Eaters for every last one — which makes their moods drop further, Launcelot takes off, hooting hysterically.

"That bloody bird," Remus mutters, exasperated, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"It's _Sirius'_ bird," James replies mournfully.

"I'll go get it," Remus says with a defeated sigh. In truth, he could use some distance from James. He makes it impossible to hope, just now.

Remus catches up with the owl at the Entrance Hall, where it's flapping in front of the open doors.

"Come here, you stupid thing," Remus says. "He's not coming back—"

There's suddenly a lump in his throat.

"He _didn't_ come back, and don't you make James feel worse by flying off," he warns, but his voice is shaking, and he doesn't want to think it, but…

But Launcelot, as usual doesn't listen to him. In a blink, he is gone, hooting loudly. Cursing, Remus jogs after it across the grounds, towards the Lake.

Trust Sirius' bird to like the same cold and wet places as he d—

Remus skids to a halt when he spots a figure by Sirius' favourite lakeside tree. It's a gnarled beech that's unremarkable, but he likes it there. The figure is skipping stones— but there's no elaborate choreography of multicoloured pebbles dancing and twirling about on the lake surface, so for a moment, Remus thinks it must be his brother— but wasn't he at breakfast?

Launcelot flutters on top of his head like he's nesting, and the boy brings up a hand to stroke the feathers.

" _SIRIUS_! YOU'RE BACK!" Remus exclaims, overjoyed, relieved and close to breaking down all at the same time as he races to join him.

Sirius turns, flashes him a smile.

"Hey, Moony."

He sounds so normal, he looks so _normal_ , and for a moment, Remus is fooled.

But then Sirius turns to the Lake again, tosses a stone at the water, and Remus slows down, comes to a halt a few feet away. There's a smell in his nostrils, and it's _bad_. It's how he smells after the worse Moons, and Sirius positively _reeks_ of pain, of fear and stress and that brand of anger that made Remus want to bite him on the train.

Sirius tosses another stone at the water, and it manages only two or three skips before it sinks, Remus notes. He's seen Sirius make them bounce for minutes at a time, flash colours, even sing, and he only ever skips stones when he's upset. Not to mention, his aim is off. He hits the shore, hits the Squid, hits the water all wrong and the stones just plonk down and splash without skipping even once. Sirius keeps at it, though, eyes fixed on the iron grey surface. His right hand trembles when it's not clenched around a pebble.

"Want to talk about it?" Remus ventures at last, when he's gathered up enough courage to speak.

"There's nothing to talk about." Sirius' tone is almost gentle, like an afterthought, and it clashes with the scent he's radiating.

Remus begs to differ. He takes a deep breath.

"Your father _died_ , Sirius—"

"Yeah, he did." It's flat, too emotionless to pass for his trademark sarcasm; it's just an observation. Remus thinks it shouldn't be. Sirius should yell and rage and hit things, he should do _something_. But he doesn't, and that _is_ frightening.

"Just tell me one thing," he breaks the silence when it's obvious Sirius won't speak up. "Are you okay?"

Sirius throws a stone. It just splashes into the water.

"I'm back. That's all."

It's not even an answer, but it tells Remus enough.

"Launcelot," he says quietly, "Go get James and Peter."

To his surprise, the owl obeys.

.

* * *

.

Remus doesn't go home for Christmas. Neither does he stay at Hogwarts. Instead, he goes to the Potters with the rest of them.

It feels only right, and his parents understood when he explained the situation. Peter's mum wasn't too thrilled, but in the end she relented, as long as he went home for New Year's.

The reason for this change of plans isn't to celebrate Sirius' return — it's to help him get his feet back on the ground, and James is convinced only his parents can help Sirius do that.

Sirius can't seem to focus to save his life. James spotted it at once on Saturday, and like he said, he'd be damned if he left Sirius to his own devices even for a minute.

By dinnertime, Remus has realised James is right.

It's November all over again but on steroids, and the school isn't helping — the instant they spotted him, students mobbed him, wanting to say hello, to pat his back, even hug him.

For someone who's never liked to be touched at all, Sirius takes it better than expected, but his every movement is erratic, jerky, as if his body is constantly changing its mind over what to do, trying to move in two directions at once; he needs things told twice, thrice, stops listening — or breaks off — mid-sentence and abruptly wanders away, as if he's not sure what he's doing here at all; he forgets what he's doing, or trying to do, even _while_ doing it— simple, straightforward things, such as putting food in his mouth, seem to be beyond his capacity.

He'll stop mid-movement, fork inches from his mouth, look up as if fearing the ceiling will fall on his head, and James will say something to distract him from that, reminds him he's supposed to be eating. Sirius then goes on to stare at his plate as if he's only realising it's there, casts poison detection spells, checks it for curses and hexes, only to look at Remus in surprise when he reminds him it's the fourth time he's done that, and his dinner is getting cold.

"Was it hexed?" Sirius asks then, and when Peter assures him it wasn't five minutes ago and quite likely still isn't, Sirius picks up his fork again thoughtfully, glances up at the ceiling just to make sure it's still up there and forgets all about everything else once more.

Sirius isn't tired, James tells them. He's beyond exhausted, on autopilot. Only, he seems to have trouble adjusting to the fact he's at Hogwarts at all. Pomfrey — whom they usher Sirius to after dinner — agrees with James' assessment, tells them it's normal after what he's been through, gives them a vial of Dreamless Sleep to give him right before bed, and promises to have enough doses ready for them to take along for the holidays. Two weeks of solid sleep, she claims, should be enough to get him back on his feet.

Remus doesn't hear what else she tells James, because he's too busy trying to catch up with Sirius, who randomly decided to take a walk on the grounds.

Sirius emerges from his long bath an hour later — he must've forgotten to towel himself off before getting into his pyjamas but at least he remembered where everything goes, Remus notes — and stares at his friends for a long time, as if trying to figure out if they belong here or not.

Before he can make up his mind, an owl pecks at the window, startling him from his reverie. Sirius unlatches it, catches a package.

Inside, there's a note and twelve bottles of potions.

Sirius curses, crumples up the note and throws the box out the window. A moment later, there's the sound of something exploding.

" _Bloody hag_ ," he mutters, hits the windowsill with his fist and makes them all jump.

"What was all that about?" James asks.

"If she thinks I'm drinking _anything_ she's touched, she's crazier than I thought."

"What were those bottles?" Peter asks.

Sirius shrugs, shakes his head.

"It was just the stuff St. Mungo's sent me… And some of Alfie's ones too. So I can, you know…" he gestures vaguely in midair.

"Function," James finishes for him. Sirius nods, shrugs one shoulder.

"It's been an eventful couple of weeks."

"What do we do?" Remus asks.

"Nothing," Sirius answers, "I'll go to Poops in the morning, I bet she can get me the same stuff without Mother getting to add to it." He seems to have forgotten he's already seen the School Nurse.

"You do look like you need a good night's rest," James offers gently, steers Sirius to his bed. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

"Yeah, you're right. I could sleep for a week," Sirius agrees. He turns down his bed, tosses his bathrobe over his trunk, sits on his bed to take off his slippers… and ambles out the dormitory as James is uncorking the vial of potion.

"Where's he going?" Peter asks, nonplussed.

James curses under his breath, grabs Sirius' stuff and hurries out with Remus and Peter in tow.

"He just forgot what he was doing."

.

* * *

.

James' parents arrive the next morning before breakfast, and if they're surprised to find three very sleep-deprived boys and one incredibly fidgety space cadet waiting for them in McGonagall's office, they hide it remarkably well.

"We made all your favourite things, boys," Mrs. Potter beams at them like they're her favourite people in the world, gives James a hug and a kiss on top of his head. Then she approaches Sirius, who is looking around as though trying to figure out the best escape route and considering leaping out of the window, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, teeth worrying his lower lip.

"Hi, Sirius," she tells him kindly, offers him a hand. "Let's go home for Christmas, shall we?"

Sirius freezes mid-movement, stares at her like he's just gotten busted for charming the rug in the Fourth Floor again, but Betty Potter just smiles, waits for recognition to seep into his eyes.

"Hullo, Mrs. P." Sirius' eyes wander to her hand, as if he's wondering what the hell she's expecting him to do, but after some more prompting and some additional, careful consideration, he takes it gingerly.

"Come, breakfast is getting cold," Betty Potter tells Sirius, leads him to the fireplace. "Minerva, thank you for letting us use your office. I'll keep you posted, and if you feel like dropping by, our doors are always open."

"Happy holidays, Professor," James, Remus and Peter chorus. Sirius is more focused on the fireplace, back to fidgeting, the fingers of his hand twitching at his side.

"It'll be all right," James' mum tells him. "We'll go together, how's that?"

To Remus' surprise, Sirius nods. James was right, his parents know exactly what to do.

As the fireplace flares green and Sirius and James' mum vanish, James' dad looks at them in turn.

"You boys look dead on your feet. What happened?"

"He can't sleep, Dad," James complains.

"He keeps wandering off," Peter supplies.

"He forgets stuff left and right," Remus adds.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be able to help him at home," Coop Potter decides, then smiles cheerfully at them. "Come on, we weren't lying about breakfast getting cold. You and Peter first, James. I'll go with Remus."

.

* * *

.

The entire day is a blur.

The Potters' house is huge, warm and welcoming and filled with fairy lights and tinsel and all sorts of entertainment, but they don't get to enjoy it at all.

They spend it _outside_ instead, because what else are freezing winter landscapes for if not running frantically across them, looking for one's craziest friend and freezing one's bollocks off?

One instant of them looking away was all it took to lose Sirius. By the time they'd tracked him down, in the icy depths of the nearby forest, it was after lunchtime.

It took them even longer to convince him to turn back into his usual self. As a dog, Sirius hasn't proven to be much of a listener in the best of times.

Now, Remus sincerely wonders if Sirius can hear them at all with his fur on, or even without.

The Dog is restless and filled with a nervous sort of energy that makes the wolf stir in its sleep — it's the New Moon, usually Remus' best handful of days of the month, when he struggles the least with his instincts, when he's as close to human as he can get. It's also the time he's at his weakest — in short, the worst time to run around after an erratically wandering best friend turned dog, who doesn't sleep, hardly eats and somehow manages to race through the thicket as if the Wild Hunt were after him for hours and still wants more.

The Dog's silver eyes are open wide, nose working ceaselessly, and he keeps panting as though he's running even when he's sitting still. Just like in his human form, Sirius as a dog looks quite content staying out here in the freezing cold.

"Come _on_ , Sirius, just turn back so we can get something to eat," Peter tells him pleadingly. Out of them all, he struggles most with any activity that's not done sitting down, and he looks frustrated, close to tears.

The Dog won't have any of it, however. He makes to bound away instead—

"James! Sirius! Peter! Remus!" a faint voice makes him freeze, ears pricked up at the sound. "Come inside, it's dark and dinner's ready!"

An instant later, the Dog is gone and Sirius is back, steaming, drenched from head to toe and shaking with cold. He gives them an uncomprehending stare.

"What are we doing out here?" he asks them, only to get three stares that mirror his own in return.

"I've been wondering the same," James admits, and he must be touched in the head too, because he laughs. "Come on, Sirius, Mum's made you some beef casserole or something equally disgusting. I bet you'll love it."

"Your mum?" Sirius asks in confusion.

"Yeah, look over there — that's home." James points their frosty friend towards Godric's Hall in the distance, its lights shining through the trees.

"When did we get here?" Sirius asks through chattering teeth. Remus takes pity on him and dries him off with a wave of his wand.

"Just this morning," James assures him, steers him towards the house like nothing's the matter at all. "It's Christmas Eve, tomorrow. Come on, let's all of us get warmed up. You'll feel better after you've eaten something."

They all bunk together in James' room, which is filled with comfortable, warm-looking beds. They stumble upstairs after dinner, and Remus is quite ready to just sink into his own and forget this day even happened.

Sirius' hyperactive streak seems to have run out after yet another long bath, but Remus can see his leg bouncing restlessly out of the corner of his eye, a new and irritating constant. He hasn't really said anything all day, even now he's sitting on the windowsill looking out onto the snow-covered forest, his mind miles away.

Or maybe he's just planning his next little jaunt through the frozen forest.

Sirius doesn't protest when James coaxes him to lie down. He doesn't argue, either, or move, until they blow out the candles.

As soon as it's dark though, he tosses and turns, huffs and turns and tosses, can't seem to get comfortable. One bed over, Remus hasn't been able to bat an eye either, listening to the restless noises, the mounting frustration radiating from Sirius filling his nose.

Then Sirius shuffles out of bed, fed up.

"James," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Mind if I go downstairs for a bit?"

"Mi casa and all that," James says sleepily. An instant later, Sirius is out the door. Remus sits up, already dreading a night-time trek through the forest.

When he tiptoes to the door, though, he sees James is right next to him, wide awake. The only one who seems to be asleep is Peter, but then, he was exhausted and can sleep through anything even when he's not.

James and Remus exchange a glance and quietly make their way out of the room.

"Can't sleep?" Mr. Potter's voice makes them freeze halfway down the staircase.

"Lord Potter." Sirius' voice trails to them. James' dad chuckles.

"Lord Black."

"Sorry, force of habit."

"It's all right, lad. I heard you've had a hard time of it."

"I guess." There's a pause, during which James gestures for Remus to follow him to the entrance hall. "James said I could come out here," Sirius adds. He sounds defensive.

"Oh, by all means," James' dad says jovially. Remus catches a glimpse of him regarding Sirius warmly, but James pulls him back. "Were you uncomfortable? Is it the bed? We have others you might want to try."

"No, it's…"

"Here you are, sweetie," another voice adds itself to the mix. James' mum. "Trouble sleeping?"

"I… I just _can't_ ," Sirius admits. He sounds wretched. "It's too… too…"

"Dark?" Mr. Potter asks gently.

"Yes." Remus can hear a too-familiar sort of wheeze creeping into Sirius' voice. "And it's so… so…"

"Tight?"

" _Yes_." It's a gasp, now. Remus and James look at each other, alarmed. "It's like I'm back there again, and I can't—" There's a yelp next, which makes them jump.

"It's just me, Sirius," Mrs. Potter's voice is soft.

"Sorry. Didn't see you there."

"It's all right, sweetie, you're all right."

"Nothing will fall on your head here," Mr. Potter assures Sirius. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it? There's no need to worry, though. This house is rock solid."

"I know," Sirius' voice is muffled. "I just can't shake it. It's like I know the walls are way over there… They're still too close."

There's a tug on Remus' arm. When he looks up, James nods his head to go back upstairs.

"They've got him," James whispers. "He'll be okay now. Come on, let's get some sleep."

.

* * *

.

Sirius doesn't come back to the room that night. When they wake up and go look for him, James' mum ushers the three of them into the kitchen instead.

"He's in the conservatory," she tells them, pressing mugs of hot chocolate into their hands.

"One of our better ideas, if I say so myself," James' dad adds from behind his paper, but he sounds cheerful enough.

"He didn't wander off?" Remus asks incredulously, as she gestures for the three of them to sit.

"Heavens, no, he's quite asleep," says Mrs. Potter kindly. "And we'll let him rest however long he needs to."

"What did you give him?" James asks curiously.

"Some warm milk and honey," answers Mrs. Potter, placing three bowls of steaming porridge in front of them.

"With a dash of Sleeping Draught?" Peter ventures, and the Potters laugh.

"Merlin, no. He is quite exhausted, all he needed was…"

"No walls anywhere near him," Mr. Potter finishes for his wife, who sits down next to him.

"What do you mean?" asks Remus.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Mr. Potter answers. "After that dreadful ordeal in that god-awful hill. He spent five days down there, surrounded by death."

"What, five days?" James asks. "What did they do to him?"

"You know he was supposed to guard his father's body, it's an ancient custom and the Blacks have followed it since the beginning," James' dad says, and his mum shakes her head, mutters angrily under her breath. "Usually there's six people involved, the vault only closed at the time of burial. I haven't heard of them forcing the heir to do it alone inside a closed vault for centuries."

"They _shut him in_?" Remus asks, aghast.

"At night," Mrs. Potter confirms, "Sirius told us. They said since he's such a Gryffindor, he could guard his father's body on his own. I can't believe they're still not over that stupid school House grudge, how they would hold up to such nonsense."

"His father was a bastard." James' mutter rings in the kitchen. "A real rotter. And his mo—"

"Orion Black was never a great example of affection, James Potter, but that is no reason to use such language in this house," his mother chides.

James has the grace to look abashed.

"We can only be glad he is gone," James' dad agrees. "I can't believe we are remotely related to that lot. My father always said distancing ourselves from them was the best we could do."

But Sirius can't distance himself from them, can he? Remus, James, and Peter exchange worried looks.

"But what—" James begins to ask.

"His father was disfigured and hacked up and burned alive. You remember what it was like, and we were there for a handful of minutes, James," says Mr. Potter.

"Sirius spent five days with the corpse, five nights locked in that vault, and that dreadful accident…" James' mum wraps her shawl tighter around herself, shudders. "If it were me, I couldn't bat an eye, either. And that horrible family, they just made it worse."

"What did they do?" James wants to know. " _Mum_?"

"It's what they _didn't_ do, honey," she tells them mournfully. "To them, he's not a child who needs support, he's a figurehead who is supposed to hold _them_ up, not the other way round. He's had not a moment to breathe, or rest, for the longest time. He was trapped in rubble inside his father's coffin for over twelve hours before he managed to blast his way out, because they were looking for him somewhere else. He's shell-shocked, constantly expecting for something to happen that will hurt him again," Mrs. Potter tells them. Remus had known most of this before, as had they all, but there's something in the way she reminds them of it that drives it home. "It was a _terrible_ ordeal, and the Blacks have never been known for their…"

"Humanity?" James finishes for her, bitterly.

" _Compassion_ ," she corrects. "He needs it. Don't be harsh with him, honey."

"I wasn't going to—" James protests.

"Oh, he'll probably get on your nerves," his father warns them gently. "He might do reckless things, have trouble focusing, get angry without reason, say things he doesn't mean. It is during those times, when it's hardest for you to feel understanding, that he will most need your support, your patience, but above all, your compassion."

"We _know_ that," James protests, as if the mere notion of being mad at Sirius over anything is too preposterous. But Remus knows, Sirius has already done all those things, and made them angry, even James.

"We'll do our best to help," James' mum assures them. "But I swear, sometimes I feel like that boy wouldn't recognise kindness if it slapped him in the face."

"Be that as it may," James' dad says, folding up the Prophet, "it is up to us to do for Sirius what his family has failed to do. Be kind, lads. Be patient, remind him you're there for him. Family doesn't have to be defined by blood, and he might find in us what he needs to get back on his feet."

.

* * *

.

The next couple of days are a bittersweet affair for the three of them. They do the rounds, sit by Sirius' side for hours at a time, hear the feverish mutters of, "Father, _no_ —", the occasional ringing for breath, the cries of, "let me out!" and, "stop, don't!" which only James seems to be able to put an end to.

He'll put a hand on Sirius' forehead, mutter a few words, and Sirius invariably falls asleep again.

"What's that you're doing?" Remus asks quietly. "You did it at the Lake, too."

"It's nothing," James answers, smiling with embarrassment. "I just think of something nice, plant the thought in his head."

"What thought?" Remus wants to know, and can he and Peter do such a thing too?

"Lately, I just tell him I'm here," James answers, blushing. "Remind him he's not alone. He keeps forgetting."

Sirius doesn't wake up at all until late on Christmas morning, but he's so groggy and dazed, James' mum sticks him back in bed with another glass of honeyed milk and a handful of gentle words, and they decide to wait to open their presents until he's around. James decides to stay with him, just so he isn't alone when he finally does wake up.

A few hours later, a loud _crash_ and a yell make Remus and Peter, who have been playing chess by the fire, leap up and hurry to the conservatory with James' parents.

James is picking himself up from the floor, clothes smoking, his hair on end.

"Jamie, what happened?" his mother asks, but James holds up a hand to stop her.

"He had a nightmare," he says, fixes his cracked glasses. "Don't come in yet. Give me a second."

Remus can see Sirius scooting away from James, chest heaving. It's such a bizarre thing to look at, but not as bizarre as what follows.

"Who the hell are you?" Sirius asks, eyes darting around the room in alarm. "What is this place?"

"You know who I am. And this is my house," James answers calmly, smiling like nothing's wrong, comes to a crouch in front of Sirius, who backs away against one of the trestle tables like a cornered animal.

"Sirius? Hey," James says, comes even closer, tries to make eye contact. "You know me, you know your James, don't you?"

"J-James?" Sirius' eyes widen, his breath catches in his throat, but it's not with recognition. " _What_?"

"Come here, I'll explain." James pulls Sirius close, makes him jump as he wraps his arms around him, presses his forehead against his. It's not a hug — James is holding Sirius in place, but what the hell is he doing?

"You can't remember, that's all, you're still half asleep. It's Christmas, mate, and we're here for the hols, all of us," James tells him. Sirius begins to tremble.

"He's forgotten us?" Peter asks nervously.

"He hasn't forgotten us," James tells them, knocks his forehead lightly against Sirius, makes him gasp. "He just can't remember. Give him a minute to sort out his thoughts."

"What's the diff—" Remus wants to know, but a sob cuts him off. A moment later, Sirius is slumped against James, shivering. Crying.

Remus has never seen him _cry_.

Angry, certainly. Frustrated, sure. Obnoxious and loud and even in pain. Every emotion in between, except despair, but it's what he's radiating as he leans against James, unmoving except for his shaking shoulders. To judge by the Potters' concerned looks, they haven't seen this side of him, either. James' mum turns away, looking like she's got a head cold.

"What did they do to you?" James asks. He's clinging to Sirius now, his arms wrapped around him protectively. It's a mark of how upset Sirius is, that he lets him. "Sirius, _what did they do_?"

"I don't know, James," Sirius sobs out. He sounds empty. Hollow. "I can't remember. _I don't know_."

.

* * *

TBC.

Thanks for all your brilliant comments, they're incredibly motivating and make my day. Let me know what you think about this one too!

* * *

.

TBC.

Thanks for all your brilliant comments, they're incredibly motivating and make my day. Let me know what you think about this one too!

 **Next up:** This fic is gaining a life of its own and I frankly have no idea how many chapters it will have anymore. All I know is, Alfie comes to the rescue, Sirius gets his head screwed on sort of straight but not really, Remus finally has dat talk with Sirius (no, you pervs, not THAT talk). It's just some talk, okay? Nvm. The Dog shows its face more than Sirius, and finally, teh moon I've been announcing every time but which doesn't quite let me get there. Maybe Hagrid comes to the rescue, and maybe there's some Black Warnings again. Not sure.


	7. January Moon: Moony and Padfoot

**Disclaimer:** No cows, sheep, piggies or poultry of any kind have been harmed in the making of this chapter. The same goes for hares, skunks, squirrels, seals, whales, porpoises, desert turtles and other such woodland creatures. #PETARulz

 **Also:** Kids, drugs are bad for you. Bad. Yep. Live healthy, play sports, get your highs off stuff that won't hurt you or anyone else. The seventies are SO last century!

* * *

 **In this chapter:** Alfie comes to the rescue, Hagrid comes to the rescue, Remus is in charge of walkies and doesn't mind, Sirius and Remus have a chat, chase some stuff, James' parents are awesome as always, and James himself doesn't do half bad. Sirius has a spa day, and the moon is a nightmare.

* * *

 **January Moon: Moony and Padfoot**

.

* * *

.

James stays out with Sirius in the conservatory all morning. He only emerges an hour later to get some food and to give them a status update.

The first thing he asks everyone is not to make a big deal of what happened, and Remus' stomach decides it's high time it took up macrame.

"He can't focus and he keeps losing his train of thought like before," James tells them worriedly, while his mum is fixing breakfast and putting it on a tray. "He says he doesn't remember sod-all squared, but… I'm sure he does, a little. He says it hurts when he tries to remember."

"Maybe it's a Memory Spell of some kind," James' dad muses.

"Yeah. His father used one on him before. When they thought he was bitten by a werewolf." James wants to expound on that, but his dad's next words make him snap his mouth shut.

"Yeah, that makes sense. They're used to treat traumatic experiences," Mr. Potter explains, "when the person can't deal with the magnitude of what happened."

"Wh— _No_. You're saying they did that to _help_ him?" James sounds disbelieving and Remus can't blame him. "Dad— _look at him_ , if there's one thing he hasn't gotten, it's _help_."

"I'm only saying it's a widely-used form of treatment," James' dad answers, placatingly. "You'd be surprised at the range of uses those spells have had over the centuries."

"Who it's _meant_ to help, though, remains open for debate," Betty Potter's lips are pursed tightly, as she covers the tray with James' and Sirius' breakfasts on it. "Walburga only ever thinks of herself, and those sisters of hers aren't any better."

"Out of sight, out of _mind_?" James sounds furious. His mum scowls, and his dad nods heavily.

"The Blacks aren't really equipped to deal with emotions, you've seen them. The Black Manner is _one_ thing they could change that would make them better witches and wizards, but they're too…"

"Evil?" James asks mock-innocently.

"… hung up on tradition," his dad decides, but it is evident to Remus he agrees with his son. "All those rules, all those rituals… My father grew up like that, grandmother was a Black." Mr. Potter shrugs, shakes his head. "She used to say emotion was weakness, that it shouldn't cloud one's judgement. I can see how something like this would endanger their sense of security. Sirius is, after all, the head of the family. If there's anyone in their eyes who can't waste time dealing with trauma, it's him."

"Waste _time_? He's not a _thing_ ," James argues, as outraged as the rest of them. "He's—"

"He's trying to _deal_ with it," his dad interrupts. "Maybe part of him is fighting the spell. Maybe it was not properly cast. Maybe it's not a spell at all, maybe it's a potion. Maybe it's all him trying to make sense of what happened. Poppy did say he's extremely sleep-deprived. The mind can play tricks on you."

"That's a lot of maybes, Dad." James sounds desperate.

James' mum wraps her arms around him, kisses the top of his head. "I know it's not easy, honey. Have heart, we'll figure something out."

"Right now, maybes are all we have," Mr. Potter reminds them. "To hope to help him, we need to look at all the options. You said his uncle was giving him potions?"

"Yeah, but he didn't say which ones, I doubt he knows what he was chugging at all." James ruffles his hair. "All he said was, they helped him get through the day."

"I'll tell the elves to set another place for tonight's dinner," James' mum tells them. "Alphard could — and should — shed some light on all of this."

"His uncle?" Remus asks, frowning.

"The only decent Black aside from Sirius I've met," James' mum tells him. "If there's anyone who knows what happened, I'm guessing it's him."

"His cousin Andromeda is alright, too," James tells her, but he suddenly sounds hopeful, now he knows Alphard is coming over. Remus isn't sure he ought to be.

"Can we trust him, though?" Remus bites his lip. "What if he's given Sirius the potions that make him all spacey?"

"Alfie? He wouldn't, he loves Sirius as his own," Mr. Potter tells them. "Betty is right. If there's anyone who can figure out what's wrong with Sirius, it's him."

"And Sirius will be happy to spend Christmas with him as well," Mrs. Potter adds.

"Should I tell him?" James asks eagerly, picking up the laden tablet. His mum shakes her head, smiling.

"Let's make it a surprise."

.

* * *

.

Sirius joins them all for lunch.

At first glance, Remus can't tell what, if anything, changed; he looks as lost, as helplessly restless as before. He only looks more tired, even less inclined to speak than before.

 _It's when a dog doesn't eat_ , he recalls one of his dad's sayings, watching Sirius picking listlessly at his Christmas lunch. He is miles away from any conversations, where before he at least tried to pay attention. Now, he doesn't even make eye contact with any of them, and Remus sincerely doubts he's remotely aware of whatever is going on around him at all. He doesn't even try to go outside, not once.

James manages to draw his attention for short periods, even gets him to engage in a game of chess for a couple of minutes at a time. He doesn't seem to know what he's doing at all, but then, he and James don't play chess — they usually just make their chessmen massacre each other in a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fuelled death match that involves lots of yelling and usually has any onlookers in stitches.

Today, the yelling is one-sided. Two, if you count Peter, who has decided to help James out and mostly succeeds in keeping things going, by basically playing the game for Sirius. Remus just watches, feeling useless and trying to figure out what he could do to help. Even hours later, he can't think of anything.

It's when the Potters receive another guest for Christmas dinner that Sirius changes yet again.

"Oh, Alfie, it's so good of you to come over," Mrs. Potter's voice reaches their ears.

Alphard has hardly stepped through the door, his voice ringing cheerfully in the hall as James' parents welcome him in, when Sirius leaps to his feet, his every fibre on high alert. For a moment, it is to Remus as if he's simultaneously trying to bolt out the window and rush through the door to greet his uncle.

"You're—" Sirius says tensely for a greeting, but what Alphard is, Remus never finds out. The tall wizard smiles, strides to Sirius' side before he can make up his mind and run for it.

"I'm quite alone, don't worry." He hands his travelling cloak to one of the Potters' elves. "Something told me I'd find you here," he adds, placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder and surveying him fondly.

Knowing the Blacks, that's probably tantamount to an embrace.

"Are you feeling any better?" Alphard asks.

"No," Sirius stares up at him unblinkingly, all tension. "I keep forgetting what I'm doing. When I try to remember…" he trails off, swallows. Looks past Alphard, probably to make sure there really are no other Blacks around.

"Hmm." Alphard watches him for a moment, during which Sirius is peering out the window. "Come, then. Let's have a look at that, shall we."

"Look at what?" Sirius has already forgotten again.

"Precisely. Come with me, Sirius. I have just the thing." Alphard winks at the Potters, who follow him into the kitchen.

"What now?" Peter asks James.

"I'm not sure, Pete. I guess we'll just wait and see."

.

* * *

.

When they come out again a handful of minutes later, Sirius looks loads more like his usual self. The tension is mostly gone from his every movement, and he seems to at least realise where he is, which is an improvement.

"Alright?" he asks them, without a shred of recollection. Remus isn't fooled by it, though: Sirius' smell hasn't changed. He still smells of pain and anxiety and fear and stress, and this time, Remus refuses to let it go.

He doesn't know what to do to address it, but he resolves to at least try.

Only, this isn't the time or the place for it. It's Christmas, isn't it, and everyone is hoping for at least a brief respite tonight. It's written all over their faces, it shines through in the light tone of their conversations, in the overexcited way they open presents.

If Sirius notices how they're all treating him like he's made of glass, Remus will eat his wizard's hat — he doesn't seem capable of even fully grasping what's going on.

Presents and wrappers and bows sticking all over the place keep them all entertained, and Sirius thanks them for his — Quidditch gear, predictably, from the Potters, chocolates from Peter and a book from Remus — even looks curiously at the things the rest of them have gotten, smiles along with them… but James has to keep drawing his attention towards the goings-on constantly, or he'll space out again.

There is a moment when a box wrapped in black velvet from his mother appears at the foot of the tree, but it ends up in the fire before Remus can even ask about it.

Alphard's mouth snaps open in shock, and he leaps to his feet in alarm— but Sirius points his wand at the fireplace over his shoulder, and a bright blue bubble engulfs the ensuing explosion. Everyone stops what they're doing, except for Sirius himself, who tries on his new Beater's gloves and flexes his fingers experimentally. Behind him, the bubble and the remains of whatever just blew up, dissolve into nothing.

"What _was_ that, mate?" James asks, his hair on end like a porcupine's.

"What was what?" Sirius asks, suddenly listening hard. He seems to think James is talking about some unidentified noise.

"You threw a package in the fire and it—" Peter mimics an explosion. Sirius stares at him for a moment.

Peter mimics an explosion again, staring back. The corners of Sirius' mouth twitch with amusement, and for a moment, he's one-hundred per cent _there_.

"I think it was —"

"The _Ruler's Orb_ ," Alphard says, aghast. "Oh Lord, how _could_ you—"

"It was surprisingly easy. I tossed it," Sirius says dryly.

"It's a _priceless_ symbol of your birthright! Of your status as the head of the House! It was given to the first Sirius by the Nereid of Avalon, thus creating the House of Black!"

"Figures," Sirius snorts. "The entire bloody family, created by some ridiculous aquatic ceremony involving strange women lying in ponds. That's _exactly_ what supreme executive power should hinge on." He smirks at Alfie's expression, then clicks his tongue, "Well played, dead eleven-year-old ancestor-but-not-because-he-didn't-leave-any-descendants."

" _Lord_ —"

"Alfie, _relax_. You can keep it if it's still there in the morning," Sirius replies, returns his attention to his new gloves, looks up at James' mum with a genuine smile. "These are brilliant, Mrs. P. Thank you."

It seems some things he's not too scatterbrained for, Remus decides. But then James' dad bursts out laughing, clapping Alfie on the back genially, and Sirius gives a startled jump.

"I missed something," he mumbles, looking at the gloves he's just taken off like he hasn't ever seen them before. He puts them on again, flexes his fingers experimentally. "These are brilliant, Mrs. P. Thank you."

Poor Alfie, though, stares longingly at the fire, trying to make out whether or not the Ruler's Orb is still there.

"Don't stare so long into the fire, your eyes will dry up," Sirius suggests, when they're called to the dining room a few minutes later, the incident completely forgotten.

.

* * *

.

Sirius manages to sit through dinner without spacing out, even succeeds in keeping track of the conversation — which centres around anything and everything except the Blacks — he even laughs at Peter's imitation of Snape hopping around with his foot in his mouth.

The dining room seems to be the main reason for it; Mr. and Mrs. Potter charmed it to look like they're sitting outside on the snowed-in grounds, surrounded by wide open fields and the forest in the distance, the boundaries marked by the four large Christmas trees in the corners, the doorway charmed to look like an arch of boughs.

The illusion is so good, James starts a snowball fight with the warm stuff covering the floor, which disappears as soon as it hits them and has them all laughing and fooling around in in an instant.

There is no mention of anything remotely upsetting, and though Remus can see the reasoning behind it, it rubs him wrong. He would dearly like to ask Sirius' uncle a host of questions, such as, why, if he genuinely seems to care about him, he helped hide the marks all over him. Why, if he knew Sirius was being targeted for murder, he didn't go to the authorities.

But he doesn't dare.

Instead, he makes an effort, jokes around with his friends, tries to make Sirius laugh, to keep him engaged and from thinking at all.

However, he believes that the old method of "ignore it and it will go away", which has been his own go-to-war for years, will not work for long. Remus has come to realise that it wasn't working for him either, and he can admit it now, at least to himself. Supportive as his friends have been for years, it wasn't until Sirius and the Dog appeared in the wolf's life that he actually started getting better.

He would like to return the favour, but—

He has no idea how.

The only one who seems to have a deeper insight is James, and even he looks lost and confused whenever he's not going out of his way to cheer Sirius up.

They're eating dessert when Sirius' fork slides out of suddenly nerveless fingers and clatters to the floor. Sirius himself follows suit, but Alphard catches him, lifts him up in a fluid motion, like it's normal to have your nephew pass out at the dinner table.

"Took him long enough," he states, then turns to the Potters with a cheerful smile. "I thought he wouldn't make it past the second course." Remus stares at him, but the only thing he can think of is, how very small Sirius looks in his uncle's arms. "So, where would you be housing this one?"

"We set him up in the conservatory," James' mum tells him. "This way, Alfie." James exchanges a look with them and hurries to follow. Therefore, so do they all.

"Oh, this is _nice_ , Betty," Alfie says appreciatively, placing a sleeping Sirius on the bed and taking off his shoes and outer robes. "Now I know why he likes coming here best of all."

"You're too kind, Alphard."

"What's wrong with him?" James asks. "What did you do?"

Alphard loses his easy smile, gives James an appraising look. To Remus' surprise, he glances at the Potters, gets a nod, before answering.

"I just gave him something to help him rest."

"Will he be okay now?"

"In time, of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Walburga placed a Memory Charm on him," Alfie confirms their suspicions. "Only, she's never been quite good at those. She meant well, but…"

Remus doubts that is the case, but again, he doesn't say anything.

"She was trying to _help_?" James sounds incredulous. He doesn't seem to be suffering from self-doubt. "That's _his_ mother we're talking about, right?" He points at Sirius.

"It was… possibly not one of her brightest ideas, she ought to have let the pros handle it," Alfie concedes, now waving his wand at Sirius and making him glow. He raises his eyebrows at what he sees, but it tells Remus nothing. "Sirius was a bundle of nerves when he managed to get out of the mausoleum, and he was very upset over how the situation was handled."

"Handled? They weren't even looking for him!"

"They _were_ looking, it was an honest mistake," Alfie answers, unruffled. "There is one other boy named Sirius Black down there."

"What?!"

"Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black, the First," Alfie says, sticking Sirius in pyjamas with little dogs all over them. "Widely considered to be the founder of the House, even if he died when he was a child and left no descendants. He was Merlin's favourite grandson, Sirius is named after him." Alfie regards his handiwork for a moment, waves his wand and Sirius' clothes fold themselves while he lays out an outfit for him to wear in the morning.

"It made the search spells go haywire — pointed rescuers in the wrong direction. They were also thrown off, because…" Alfie pauses for a moment but in the end he does finish the sentence. "Because they were looking for a dead body. Nobody thought Sirius could have survived that blast."

"You're telling us—"

"I am telling you what _happened_ ," Alfie answers heavily, and is it Remus or does he regret every word? He can't tell. "Sirius is trying to piece events together, but he already doesn't quite recall them as they occurred. Walburga thought the kindest thing she could do was erase the ordeal altogether." He gives them a shrug, as if to say, "what can you do?"

"But he _can_ remember," James insists.

"Parts of it," Alfie agrees. "I've been trying to keep him centred, help him focus on… on other things. The mind is a delicate thing," he explains, in a casual tone quite unbefitting the situation. In that regard, Remus can see the family resemblance quite easily. Sirius does the same thing sometimes, downplays everything, as though he's incapable of seeing the importance of what's going on around him.

"Memory spells, even botched ones, can't just be removed so easily. It would take days just to find the one string to unravel, and if he's not ready for it, why, he could go quite bananas." Alfie gives a small laugh, as though such a thing were just a funny mishap.

Maybe for the Blacks, it would be.

"So what, to keep him from going crazy, we let him _think_ he's crazy?" James shoots back.

"Merlin, no. But I won't remove the spell," is the answer. Alfie's clear grey eyes pierce James' intensely, and James swallows, nods. "I've… given him some restoratives," Alfie's face is as tight as Sirius' when he tries to remember something. "He just needs some rest, but he'll be all right. Just give him time."

"How much time?" James demands.

"However much he needs, lad."

.

* * *

.

"So what, we're supposed to help him remember or not?" Peter asks, when the adults retire to have some eggnog or cocktails or the sort.

"I think we're supposed to do _something_ ," James agrees, frowning. "Remember his face when he said to be careful and not go too far?"

"He didn't say that," Remus corrects. "He said to give him time and let him rest."

"I distinctly remember—"

"Dude, don't tell me you're as loopy as he is, now," Peter groans. "Because it's bloody _exhausting_. I'm not running after either of you for hours on end, either. Not again."

"I'm not loopy," James insists.

"If it walks like a duck and talks like a nutter," Pete retorts, takes a bite of his cheese. Remus takes a moment to wonder where Peter hides all the food around him — he's been nibbling on stuff non-stop for days — but then dismisses it.

"Well, Pete's right. Alfie didn't say any of the things you just said," he points out.

"How did I hear one thing and you heard another?" James asks them. Peter and Remus just shrug.

"He _was_ staring at you a bit weird," Remus admits. "You know, like Dumbledore but without the twinkling. And kind of creepier."

"Maybe he was legilimencing your arse," Peter says, taking one of the chocolate bars he gave Sirius as a gift and unwrapping it. "Your dad did say he's like, this expert in mind magic."

"Legilimencing isn't a word," Remus says. "And it certainly doesn't happen in the arse. But you might have got something there, Pete. What did he tell you, then?" he asks, and they both turn to look at James expectantly.

"Alfie said, "You can try helping him piece things together, a little at a time." And _then_ he said, "I've heard you already did that before. I'm sure you can do it again." And he warned me not to go too far, not to overwhelm him. I thought we could all hear him."

"When was that?" Remus wants to know.

"Just now— he was just talking to all of us, Remus!" James stares at him.

"No— I meant, when did you help him before?"

"Oh. I'm guessing, when he came back from his parents' last time. He was having trouble remembering stuff too, but I didn't do anything, he did it mostly by himself." James bites his lip. "He said it's all clearer when he's the Dog," he adds after some thought. "Maybe the spells weren't botched. Maybe it's like Sirius said. They didn't take."

"You mean, the Dog remembers but he doesn't?"

"Why not? I mean, it's not like we know what all the Dog does to him," James muses. "But he isn't quite human anymore, is he? He does loads of dog things even when he's not wearing his tail, and he did say it's like having two minds fighting it out in your head, remember that, Pete?"

"Yeah, vaguely," Peter says with a full mouth. Remus doesn't even know what he's munching on now. "And his family doesn't know he's a dog, do they."

"Memory Charms are based on intent," Remus agrees. "If his hag of a mum cast it thinking of what he used to be…"

"Then she'd only half manage to make it stick," James decides, ruffles his hair up again. "It's possible."

"So what do we do?" Remus asks.

"What nobody seems to have done," says James. "We ask him."

.

* * *

.

Sirius wakes up in the middle of the night. Remus sits up in bed, startled by the sound— a gasp, a _thump_ , a muffled curse.

They all moved into the conservatory, and though Pete complained about the "plant things wanting to grab him", Remus can understand why Sirius likes it here. It's almost like sleeping under the stars, except without the wind and cold and blizzards. It's actually very cosy.

"Hey," James' voice carries to his ears, cautious in case Sirius can't remember who he is, but he is already by Sirius' side regardless. "Everything okay?"

"I ran out of bed," Sirius mutters, and James chuckles softly. Remus gets up and perches on James' other side. Sirius is looking himself up and down, frowning at the frolicking dogs on his nightclothes.

"I missed something," he establishes.

"You fell asleep during dessert. Pete ate your lava cake."

"Oh." Sirius sits back down. "And Alfie?"

"Stuck you in your jimjams. He left around midnight, with his Ruler's Orb," James informs. "He gave mum a few potions for you."

Sirius sits down on the bed, stares at James, silently prompting him to elaborate.

"He said your mum memory charmed you and botched it, that's why you can't remember stuff." Trust James to not beat around the bush. The art of tactfully breaking upsetting news seems to have been lost on him.

"That makes sense," says Sirius, who doesn't seem to need tact in his life. "She's terrible at stuff that requires any kind of focus. Usually has Father do the spellwork. _Had_ ," he corrects himself. "Had. Now she's stuck doing it herself." He grimaces, clearly thinking of the prospect.

"But Alfie also said some things that don't add up," James says. Sirius looks at him inquiringly. "Like… he said she was trying to help you."

Sirius frowns.

"Alfie would never in his wildest dreams believe that."

"Exactly."

They fall silent for a moment, during which Sirius crawls back under his covers. Remus waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"We were thinking you remember things differently," James ventures after a moment. "Because of the Dog."

"I like the Dog," Sirius murmurs, and James heaves a sigh.

"He forgot what he was doing again."

They resolve to try again in the morning and return to bed, but now Remus can't sleep. He tosses and turns like Sirius did the first night… and finds himself nose to nose with a black canine.

The Dog wags his tail tentatively at him, sniffs him up and down. Paws at him, panting like he's running already.

"Oh, no," says Remus. "You _don't_ want to go out right now, it's the middle of the night. Go to sleep, Sirius." The Dog stares at him for a moment, then pads off to find James' bed, where James apparently isn't asleep either.

"What's the matter?" James asks, but the Dog just leaps up on the bed, turns a couple of times, and flops on his belly next to him. "Okay, sure, stay here. Mi cama and all that," James says, summons Sirius' blanket and covers the Dog with it. A moment later, they're both asleep, curled up against each other.

.

* * *

.

On Boxing Day, Remus wakes up with a strange sense of urgency. When he looks around the unfamiliar room, it takes him a moment to process just where he is.

It comes to him soon enough.

James is out of it, his bed a tangled mass of blankets and his duvet half on the floor; Peter is snoring like he always does, at this hour. And Sirius is…

Well.

Sirius is sitting on one of the work tables, surrounded by Mrs. Potter's jasmines and hydrangeas, poinsettias and roses, lost in thought while his nose works its way through the world of scent.

"Want to go outside?" Remus asks when Sirius looks up and acknowledges his presence at last.

Of course he does.

Remus gets into his snow clothes, waits for him to slip out of his pyjamas and into heavy-looking winter robes and snow boots.

They leave the house together, wander around in silence, apparently without aim. Remus is expecting the Dog to suddenly replace Sirius next to him… but he doesn't.

Remus has spent almost two months on daily treks with — or rather, looking for — Sirius, often muttering to himself about how he can't seem to stay human half the time, wishing he'd slow down, wishing he'd answer in something that's not yips and barks the wolf understands but he can't.

Now he misses the Dog, finds it sad that it's not here.

He's learnt a lot about his furry friend, though, and since for once, Sirius isn't leading the way or following some interesting smell but plodding along without a clear direction, Remus steers them towards the forest. James did say there was a river nearby which Sirius loves to splash around in. He might feel like doing that, today.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius breaks the silence at long last. His tone isn't reproachful, just confused, his expression as guarded as it has been since he returned.

"Walking," Remus replies, gives him an obnoxious little smirk. Sirius doesn't return it.

"Shouldn't you be with your parents?" he asks instead. "You didn't First Year," he elaborates, when Remus stops to look at him. "And last year, you were in the Hospital Wing from the Yule until New Year's. You could've, this year. The moon isn't until the eighth." He scuffs some snow from his boots, which he's been addressing. "So why didn't you?"

Remus shrugs, "James asked," he says. "So we could all be together."

Sirius thinks about it for a moment. Remus isn't sure what conclusion he's reaching, but it doesn't seem to be a happy one. If anything, he looks remorseful.

"We're just glad you're back. Wanted to spend Christmas with you."

Sirius scoffs bitterly.

"And hasn't it been a royal waste of your time," he says, still not looking at him. "I just had to ruin it, didn't I." He's trying to apologise, Remus realises.

"You didn't ruin anything, Sirius."

"Yeah, because it's been such a barrel of laughs," Sirius mutters. It starts dawning on Remus he's feeling guilty because he feels like he's letting them down. Because he can't meet their expectations? Because he can't _deliver_? "Maybe you'd do better going home."

It isn't an attempt at overdramatising anything. Sirius honestly seems to think it's the more practical solution. _There's no show, people. Go home_.

Maybe they _did_ expect something else. Maybe they _do_. Sirius hasn't been himself since Remus bit him, and he's not the only one who misses him.

What that something else is, Remus has no idea just yet, but he finds himself revising his emotions, becomes aware he _has_ been feeling disappointed. He _expected_ Sirius to run around in his fur again, didn't he? He was missing the Dog, and Sirius picked up on it. Remus now wonders what all else Sirius doesn't miss, even when he can't seem to string thoughts together with any semblance of coherency.

"I didn't come here for the laughs," he answers honestly. "I came here to be with you. Thought you could use the company."

If he was expecting a reaction, he's pretty certain it isn't what Sirius gives him, which is a headshake, a small, dismissive gesture he shouldn't be making at all. As though it's unimportant. As though he should drop it, let the matter be.

Remus thinks it shouldn't be dropped — even if it won't ever be something that's easy to talk about, it should be discussed. He knows what it's like, to keep terrible things to himself, and it was his friends who pulled him out of that sinkhole. Still, it wasn't complete until Sirius showed up in his fur and saw what Remus really is and showed him he doesn't care. It hadn't been easy, it still isn't, but he's all the better for it.

"We thought we'd lost you." It's out before he can think better of it. "We nearly did."

Sirius snorts impatiently, and there's that gesture again, dismissing it all. As if it's Remus who's completely missing the point here.

"Pete's pissed," Sirius notes instead. Remus doesn't know if Peter is angry at all, or what would give Sirius that impression. "You probably should be too."

"Why would I be pissed, Sirius?"

"Because you're wasting your time here. Because you could have spent the hols with your parents for once. Pete's mad because he missed Christmas at home, over _this_." he heaves a sigh. "It was just a dumb accident, wasn't it, and I caused it. It shouldn't be made such a big deal when it's not."

" _Whoa, whoa_ ," Remus stops him right there. "It wasn't an _accident_ , Sirius. None of the things that happened to you were, and you sure as _hell_ didn't cause a single one."

Sirius stares at Remus like he just dribbled on his shirt.

"What else could it have been?" he asks, like it's obvious, and Remus stares at him in shock. "I should've seen the crate of dragonstones, but I… I didn't. I'm pretty sure I didn't do it on _purpose_ , but."

"You _didn't_ , because _there was no crate_ , Sirius," Remus tells him. Sirius sounds just like that article in the Prophet— this is Bellatrix's story. James said it was a lie.

"But… But Mother said—" Sirius looks at Remus in confusion, as if he's just realised what he allowed to leave his mouth. The next moment, he cringes, staggers back a step or two, his hands flying to his head. If Remus didn't know better, he'd say Sirius looks like he's just gotten whacked with his Beater's club.

"What's wrong?" Remus reaches out to help Sirius sit, but he knocks his hand away. He looks ill all of a sudden.

"Headache," Sirius mumbles, presses his forehead on his knees. "Just—"

"Want to go back to the Potters'?"

Sirius shakes his head.

"Just… Just give me a minute."

The next moment he's on his feet again and turns to leave, cutting through the forest but nowhere near the direction James' house is in… like he's randomly done for days now. Remus hurries after him.

"Hey," he says. "Where are you off to?"

Sirius stares at him, confused. Blinks.

"I don't know."

He's forgotten again.

"Well, how about we go that way? James said there was a river, and people go ice fishing when it's frozen," Remus offers. "Want to go look?"

Sirius doesn't seem to know if he wants to or not, but he follows Remus in silence anyway.

"How do you do it?" he asks a while later, when the nearby gurgle of water tells Remus they're close to the stream.

"You'll have to be more specific. How do I do what?"

"Live," Sirius says. "With the wolf."

"I…" Remus hadn't expected that. He doesn't have an answer.

"Don't you dread it? Knowing you'll end up torn to shite and it's happening no matter what you do?" No, Sirius hasn't learnt the subtle art of tactful questions, either.

"Yeah. I dread it," Remus admits after a moment. "Not so much anymore, now."

"Why?" It's an honest question, and Remus hesitates just a moment before he delivers an honest answer.

"Because of you," he tells Sirius. "I used to fear it. Now I… I don't know. I sort of… look forward to it."

"But it still hurts you."

"Less every time," Remus lies. He's not sure why. "What do you dread?" he asks quietly, when once again Sirius is lost in thought.

The answer comes instantly.

"The Summer."

They stay silent for a long time, and Remus understands why Sirius likes the cold, the long Winter nights. It's his New Moon, when he's as close to himself as he'll ever get. And, he realises as they reach a snow-covered bridge overlooking the half-frozen river, he does know Sirius loads better than he'd previously thought.

"You were there." Sirius' voice is quiet, but his expression is drawn. He's trying to remember, isn't he. " _How_ were you there?" he asks Remus. "In my head. You said to try to get out. You… you said to use those spells. It wasn't a dream, I'm pretty sure I _didn't_ imagine _that,_ did I?"

"You didn't," Remus confirms. "As for how… I made liberal use of your blood bond with James."

"You know about that." It's not a question. If Sirius is surprised, there's no indication of it, either.

"Yes."

Sirius lets it sink in. Nods to himself. Swallows.

"What was it like? When you were trapped." Remus ventures a moment later. The next instant he's regretting opening his mouth.

"It was like… Like an acid trip," Sirius answers hesitantly. "There were all these ghosts, and… and _Father_ … and."

And Sirius is gripping the side of the bridge now, gasping in pain. His knees give way, and Remus barely catches him. Sirius pushes him away, or tries. Remus helps him sit anyway.

"There was this smell, too," Sirius grits out, ringing for breath. "Rot and death and there were bits of _him_ all over me, and I couldn't— I _couldn't_ —"

He looks like he can't now, either, and Remus is in over his head.

"Sirius— just take a few deep breaths." Remus directs him to put his head between his knees. Sirius bats him away again.

"Just gimme… gimme a sec." Sirius is trying to shake it off, collect himself, frowning as though whatever he's feeling is not a cause for alarm, nothing more than a source of annoyance.

Remus suddenly understands why James does the things he does the way he does. It's not him being callous or uncaring— Sirius doesn't do well when he realises you're commiserating him, because he has no commiseration for himself.

"How do _you_ know about acid trips?" Remus decides to follow James' example and steers the topic away from corpses and stench and slabs of rock crushing one's lungs. "There I was thinking you were just another stuck-up pure-bred ponce living in a gilded bubble."

"M-m-muggle Studies class?" It seems as though Sirius is debating whether to laugh or cry, his breaths short and hitched.

"That's not in the curriculum," Remus points out. Inwardly he's going over all his options, decides he'll stun Sirius and levitate him to the house if he gets any worse.

"No, it's not…" Sirius gasps in a deeper breath, "is it?"

He lets out a small laugh, his decision made.

"How _do_ you know about acid trips, though?"

"I do live in London… don't I." Sirius' expression tells Remus this is actually something worth a listen. Not that the rest isn't, but now he understands why James chooses to distract Sirius with mad stunts and talks his ears off about Quidditch strategy until Sirius' brain melts. Whatever he's struggling with is rather bigger than Remus can dimension, and if he can't remember half of it without reliving the situation— what else is there?

"Pray tell."

"It was… years ago. I think. There was this…" Sirius shakes his head, and there's that dismissive gesture again. "This… _thing_. I took a… a personal day," Sirius' expression is not what Remus had hoped to see. He wisely refrains from asking why he ran away, files it away for later.

"… and I ended up at this… concert. Everyone in there was _baked_. I was looking for y'know, just something to pass the time." Or hide, Remus surmises. "But then I saw this sign on a pair of doors saying… "The Doors". I thought it was so the stoned Muggles would know they were real and not, y'know, figments of their imagination, but."

"Jim Morrisson?"

"Aye. It was… it was _brilliant_."

"And the acid?"

Sirius smirks, gets to his feet, crisis averted. "The Muggles were _loads_ better at sharing than you."

"You nicked it." Remus knows that smirk. He stands up as well, brushes off the snow all over him.

"I nicked it." Next to him, Sirius looks more like his old self than he has in weeks as he thrusts his hands in his pockets with satisfaction, looks out at the river.

"So, when was this?" Remus asks, when there's no further information forthcoming.

"When was what?" Sirius forgot again, and Remus heaves a sigh. The next instant, the Dog is in front of him, sniffing the air, ears pricked up—

And did he just yell, _Squirrel_?! Remus can't dwell on it: he's already running after him.

.

* * *

.

On the days leading up to New Year's, a new sort of routine develops. Sirius doesn't do very well indoors, so Remus and James constantly think up new things for them to do outside, much to Peter's chagrin and increasingly vocal protests.

Sirius wasn't wrong — Peter isn't having half as good a time as he would like them to believe, and he's clearly counting down the days until New Year's Eve, when he's going home for the second half of the holidays.

Remus suspects it's because of all the outdoorsy activities, and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't hard sometimes for him as well — from dawn to dusk, they play Quidditch in the frozen pitch behind the house, where Sirius whacks at the stalagmites on the practice hoops and James flies loops around him while he and Peter struggle to keep up, or go for long treks through the woods, where it's Remus' turn to chase small woodland creatures with the Dog and James and Peter get left behind.

Privately, Remus enjoys those most of all; not just because they soon become the terror of any fluffy woodland creatures in the area, or because of the thrill of the hunt — but because Sirius seems to find a little more of himself again every day.

Not to mention, the sheer abundance of snacks they find along the way.

There haven't been any more crises to avert or distract him from since that day at the bridge, but Remus has been paying attention: Sirius is piecing something together, something that isn't quite cooked yet — but he resolves to be there when Sirius reaches a conclusion.

In the meantime, he, James, and Peter have decided to keep him as busy as possible.

There's snowball fights — where they notice Sirius can't so much as cast a simple Summoning Charm without a struggle, magical bobsledding — where it becomes clear that letting Sirius steer is a major mistake unless they all want to break their necks — and even making moving snowmen becomes an avalanche risk at one point.

In short: it's exhausting and hilarious, and a little scary at times, and Remus doesn't know what they'd do without the Potters, who do their best to get Sirius back to his old self, until he's bursting with their particular brand of kindness and quite incapable of being anything but all right.

James' parents also seem to enjoy letting them have a free rein. As long as there's no risk of (or actual) broken bones, they seem content letting them work things out among themselves. Their only rule is to show up for meals on time, washed and dressed, and not to stay out after dark.

Which is when things get difficult.

They spend the afternoons and evenings playing board games and James pesters Sirius constantly to help him come up with Quidditch strategies, Launcelot and James' owl Alcyone fluttering around their heads like a very hyperactive, overgrown pair of moths— but put walls around Sirius, and he turns into a space cadet, grows quiet, his leg bouncing non-stop as he stares into the fire, or out the window, as though he can't wait for daylight and getting out of here again.

That doesn't stop Mrs. Potter from going out of her way trying to make him feel better, cuddle him or hug him whenever she gets a chance. Sirius lets her, but even Peter notices how uncomfortable he gets whenever she, or anyone, gets too close.

Unless he's the Dog.

Sirius might hate being touched, much less hugged or held as a human — but as the Dog, he craves contact. Every night, he gets knocked out with Pomfrey's potions, which wear off long before dawn. Every morning, he wakes up on James' bed, curled up against him as though fearing he'll disappear unless James' hand is on his fur.

This is particularly stressful for them all, as Mrs. Potter is in the habit of bringing them steaming mugs of hot chocolate every morning, and the conservatory provides exactly zero hiding space. Remus has started sleeping with one eye open, ready to leap out of bed and make Sirius turn back at the slightest indication of sound outside the door.

Which is only part of the problem.

Sirius seems to have finally managed to control his transformations, but he can't seem to control himself when he's the Dog. He's not trying to bite or pick fights anymore— which Remus is grateful for — but if Sirius in human form is distracted, the Dog is worse.

He can't seem to relax even when he's sitting still, silver eyes open wide and unblinking. When they're outside, he gets lost, falls down ravines, stumbles over his paws, knocks into his friends as though he's lost his depth perception. The only times he seems to be remotely calm when indoors are when he's pressed against Remus or James, and even then, Remus can feel him trembling with anxiety.

As the moon waxes overhead, Remus' energy levels go up, his animal instincts reassert themselves. For the first time, he's grateful for it, because he can keep up with the Dog that much more easily.

Sirius' smell hasn't changed, but it doesn't bring out a wish to fight in the wolf anymore. It stirs something new in him, something the wolf has never once felt before — the need to protect him.

.

* * *

.

"You owe me big time," James protests a few days after New Year's, rummaging around in his leather bag for a bills of Muggle money. "It's not so easy to get Galleons exchanged, you know. And for this utterly _disgusting_ stuff. _Ugh_."

"It's comfort food," Remus argues. "Remember what your dad said? Have some compassion."

"I'm _trying_!" James argues, "Those poor beasts aren't to blame! _You_ should have some compassion!"

Remus laughs despite it all.

"I've done the research, and you two are _omnivores_ , not just… Eaters of the dead," James finishes dramatically.

Sirius has been miles away all afternoon, turning something daunting over in his mind. James picked up on it because of his mind-trick, and the wolf confirmed it, which calls for desperate measures. James sees the reasoning behind it, but that doesn't keep him from protesting.

"It helped last time," Remus reminds him, and James' look turns distinctly sour. He does give his favourite elf the wad of cash, though, sends him mournfully off to the butcher's.

"You _could_ try salad, every once in a while," James mutters, as Hinky leaves with a _pop_. "I find it _very_ comforting, and you would too, if you just stopped being so bloody obsessed with consuming living beings.

"There's _loads_ of alternatives that are both tasty and don't involve murder," James rants on, handing Dinky his bag of gold. "You go exchange that for Muggle money, will you?"

"Yes, master James!" Dinky squeaks excitedly. "Will master James want candy from the shop?"

"Might as well," James mutters, thrusting his hands in his pockets as Hinky returns, huffing under the weight of the parcel he's carrying.

Remus' grin widens.

Sirius, who has been staring out the window again, ignoring the world around him and tapping the sill restlessly, stops mid-movement.

"You do realise, that this—" James gestures at the parcel on the table. "Was a living being just this morning? A peaceful—"

 _"_ _Delicious_ ," Remus supplies.

"Beautiful," James argues.

"Scrumptious," Remus shows a hint of fang.

 _"_ _Harmless_ ," James snarls.

"Juicy."

"Gentle."

Sirius blinks in the background, sniffing the air.

"Cow," he says to nobody in particular.

"That never hurt _anyone_." James is honestly upset. Remus wonders why.

"Look." Remus gestures at Sirius, who is already unwrapping the steaks, looking more curious and excited than they've seen him in days. James shakes his head in defeat, sighs heavily.

"I hope your conscience is clear." And he stalks off, to keep his parents distracted while Remus and Sirius have their snack.

"What's that you've got there?" Remus asks Sirius.

"T-bone steaks," Sirius establishes after a moment's consideration.

"What will we do with them?" Remus prompts.

"Well." Sirius regards the meat in front of him thoughtfully for a moment. "There's two…"

Sirius looks warily at him.

His tone is firm when he adds, "Only _one_ is yours, Moony. I mean it this time."

Remus' grin becomes feral.

"We'll see about that."

.

* * *

.

By the time they have to return to school, Sirius is almost back to his usual self. He manages to stay indoors without too much of a struggle, sleeps almost the night through without going dog, and doesn't lose his train of thought half as often as he used to. Remus is especially proud because he managed to get Sirius to do almost all of his homework, too.

However, he is still worried. Sirius' scent hasn't changed enough to believe that this is more than just a front, and he fears it will crumble if it's shaken only a little, like a house of exploding cards.

James tells him he's overreacting.

James' parents take them to Hogwarts directly on Sunday before start of term, which gives them a whole day to settle in before the rest of the school arrive… and it goes smoothly.

Too smoothly.

When the other students arrive in the evening, say hello and catch up with them, it's as though Sirius morphs into something else before their eyes. Suddenly he's too awake, too aware, too… _Sirius_ , navigating the Common Room like nothing's wrong, saying hello to everyone, asking about their holidays… It's as if the front he's been building goes from shaky mask to impenetrable fortress, and it's such a good attempt, that even James is convinced.

Or maybe he just wants to believe it's finally over.

The wolf isn't fooled, though. Sirius still smells _off_.

James calls Remus a worrywart, tells him not to be ridiculous, that it's natural for Sirius to be glad to see their friends, and if he's a little nervous about classes and things it's because he's missed about half of the term's lessons, but he'll catch up, just look at him, he's fine — but Remus still can't shake it.

Sirius sits through the start-of-term feast successfully enough, even goes to say hello to his brother, and nothing seems to be wrong with him at all…

Until he spots Bellatrix and her clique arriving at the Great Hall. Sirius freezes, stares at them, hardly daring to breathe all of a sudden.

"What's wrong?" Remus asks.

"Nothing," Sirius says blankly, eyes fixed on his cousin. There's definitively realisation in them, a cringe in extreme slow motion. He's remembering something. His scent morphs from alarm and radiates outright fear. "I'm… I'm just… Just not..."

What he's not, Remus doesn't find out. The next moment, Sirius gives himself a shake, focuses on his food, doesn't say a single word after.

That night, as soon as they have blown out their candles, the Dog leaps up on Remus' bed, curls up at his side. Remus doesn't ask, he shuts the curtains instead, sits with him in silence.

Neither bats an eye all night.

In the morning, when the first waking spells begin to ring in the room, the Dog slips out from between Remus' curtains, and Sirius is suddenly sitting on his own bed, his expression closed off and unreadable as his eyes meet Remus' questioning ones. A moment later, he wordlessly gets up and gets ready for class.

Remus thought returning to the bustle of the school would help — he has always found that focusing on classes, having a scheduled life, to be good for him. A structure he can cling to, a predictable routine that tells him what he's supposed to do and think about when he can't figure it out for himself.

Not so for his most insane friend, not when he spots his cousins — Bellatrix, specifically — upon entering the Great Hall and he's suddenly radiating a barely-suppressed sort of panic.

You couldn't tell by just looking at him, but the wolf identifies the change immediately. So does James, and now he, too, smells of dread. Looks the part as well, when he fixes his eyes on Remus'.

.

* * *

.

They have Charms first thing.

And it's a _disaster_.

Sirius' focus is completely shot, he hardly seems to realise where he is at all, or what he's doing. He mixes up the simplest wand movements, casts spells he's known for years all wrong, misses his targets by miles.

Flitwick has to dive off his stack of books because Sirius misfires a Shattering Curse instead of a Rearrangement Charm that sends the tiny professor's stack of books flying. James then offers to take him to get some fresh air, and Flitwick seems only too happy to let them.

The rest of the day doesn't get any better. By lunchtime, Sirius has vanished Binns' desk, transfigured his cauldron into a metal elephant that romped around the dungeon spewing some viscous, itchy substance, and turned his chair into a rat instead of his rat into a chair.

He doesn't get any points docked; the teachers all seem to think it's because he misses his dad.

He really doesn't.

.

* * *

.

The following day is Moon Day.

It is as much of a disaster as their classes have been.

"You don't need to come tonight," Remus tells Sirius as they're both getting ready for another daunting day of school. "You should get some sleep."

"Don't be stupid, I'll be there," Sirius mutters, and Remus doesn't have the heart to put his foot down. Inwardly, he is actually relieved; he dreads spending the Moon alone again.

Sirius is true to his word. As soon as the wolf takes over controls that evening, Remus can scent him quite clearly.

He can hear him too, when the Dog begins to yelp somewhere underground, followed by frantic sounds coming from the tunnel. The wolf rushes over, tears the trapdoor to splinters, follows the sharp tang of fear along the earthy, pitch-black passage.

The Dog is there, not three feet away from the unyielding roots, paws working frantically to dig himself out, while the smell of panic fills the tunnel like a noxious gas.

The wolf sniffs him, nudges the Dog to stop— there's no way out of this cage. He's tried that already, and it didn't work. It never works.

The Dog whips around, fangs bared, eyes flashing.

 _This is more like it_ , the wolf says, bristling with an appreciative growl. He's been waiting for a good wrestling match, or even a fight— but the Dog is back to digging at the roots, in a frantic bid for escape, his breath coming in short gasps.

 _No way out,_ the wolf growls. Tries to distract the Dog, even yips playfully at him, but no matter how much he paws at him, nudges, tries to steer him upstairs, the Dog only snarls, continues trying to rip clumps of earth and rock from the tunnel walls.

 _Outoutoutoutout_ is all the Dog is thinking. No, not thinking. He is begging, pleading, frantic with panic. He yowls, so loud it makes the wolf cringe.

 _Oy._ The wolf paws at the Dog, harder. This is _his_ night, and he wants to play. He wants to chase, and wrestle, and howl at the moon, and he wants his packmate with him.

.

* * *

.

Remus wakes up wrapped around something furry and warm, screws up his face at the ray of sunlight shining in his eyes through one of the boarded-up windows. The smell of blood is in the air, its coppery, tangy taste in his mouth, and he aches all over. In his arms, the Dog is trembling.

"Sirius?" he croaks out, a deep sort of worry has only just enough time to assert itself in the pit of his stomach… and the world goes dark.

When he wakes up again, he's on the sofa, covered in a duvet with blood on it. Remus reaches up and finds the y-fronts on his head aren't any better off. Sirius is nowhere in sight, but then, he is always gone before Pomfrey arrives.

The blood isn't his, he remembers that much. Remus casts a scouring charm on everything, gets dressed as fast as his aching joints will allow.

Pomfrey doesn't even make him go to the Hospital Wing this time. She gives him a satisfied, happy look, a bar of chocolate, and sends him off to class.

"You better hurry if you don't want to miss it," she tells him happily, gives him a look that says plainly how proud she is of him.

Remus is anything but as he legs it across the grounds, hoping to find all his friends in class. Wednesday means Transfiguration first thing, so he runs up to the Third Floor without a pause, skids to a halt in front of James, who is waiting tensely in the hallway.

"Where's Sirius?" they both ask at the same time, alarmed.

"I thought he was with _you_!" they both exclaim.

"No, he was with _you_!" they both yell.

" _Shite_." They chorus, search opposite sides of the hallway, each hoping they'll see Sirius there.

"You go to class. I'll look for him —" they chorus again, and then, "No! I'll go, you stay."

"You can _both_ go," Peter suggests, shaking his head at them with an exasperated sort of grin. "Honestly, you're worse than my _mum_. He probably just got distracted by a painting talking to him, or something shiny."

"Take good notes." Remus reminds him. Then he tears off after James.

"What happened last night?" James asks, as they're under the cloak a moment later, hiding from teachers and students late for class on their way to the Shack. "I heard him crying out. Tell me you _didn't_ —"

"No, I didn't _bite_ him. He was…" Remus shrugs helplessly. "He was trying to dig himself out of the tunnel. He panicked, James. You know how dark it is, and I guess, when the roots closed—"

" _Bollocks,"_ James mutters. "I forgot about that."

"Me as well. Didn't even think about it."

"What did you do?"

Remus is glad for once, that he can remember. He tells James how he got the Dog out of the tunnel, into the Shack, tried to distract him from biting at himself.

"I got him to sleep, at some point." The blood in his mouth had come from when the wolf had licked the Dog's wounds clean, had lulled him into a restless sleep. "He tore his paws to shite. But when I woke up, he was gone."

"Do you think he managed to leave the Shack?"

"I hope he did," Remus answers, but they both rush out of the castle as fast as the cloak will allow anyway.

.

* * *

.

They find him in a small hollow under his tree, still wearing his fur, curled up tightly against the gnarled roots. He is dripping wet, licking at his torn paws, wide eyes shining like beacons from the shadows.

But that's not the worst thing.

"Ah, _crap_ ," James mutters again, but he sounds defeated rather than angry as he makes the cloak disappear in his pocket. Remus can sympathise. He's tempted to groan aloud.

The Dog isn't alone.

Hagrid saw him first.

"C'mon, I'm not goin' ter hurt ye, stop snappin' at me hands," the enormous Groundskeeper says to the Dog, beams at them as he spots them standing there. "Hullo, James. Remus. Look what I foun'! Ain't 'e a _beaut_?"

"That's one large dog," James says, exchanging a nervous look with Remus. The Dog bares his fangs at them, lets out a warning growl. He looks and smells exhausted. "And he's in a rotten mood, too."

"Pshaw, 'e's on'y hurt," Hagrid answers with a smile that makes his bushy eyebrows all but blend in with his beard. "Yeh'd be in a rotten mood too, if yeh were cold an' wet an' in pain."

James and Remus approach, come to a crouch next to Hagrid.

"Been lookin' fer this 'un all night," Hagrid tells them. "Heard 'im from me hut, 'e must've gotten trapped somewhere, see?" He points at the Dog's paws. The Dog snaps at him, and Hagrid chuckles.

"Let me try," Remus offers, and to nobody's surprise but Hagrid's, after some hesitation, the Dog allows him to stroke his head.

"'E likes yeh, Remus," Hagrid says appreciatively. "Lads, help me get 'im ter me hut, before anyone sees."

James and Remus exchange a glance, a shrug. It isn't half bad an idea, so they go with it.

"Hey there, Dog," James says with a smile, lifting the Dog's shaggy head to look into his eyes. "I think we'd best get those paws looked at. What do you say? Want to go with old Hagrid?"

The Dog looks away, and Remus can see him weighing his options. In the end he huffs, makes to stand on trembling limbs.

"Yeh bes' lemme take 'im. 'E looks quite heavy." Hagrid talks to the Dog in a soft, hushed voice, picks him up with a gentleness Remus would never have believed him capable of, and carries him to his hut. James holds the door open, while Remus plays lookout.

"What do we do now?" he asks James out of the corner of his mouth. "He'll never let Sirius go like this."

"We'll think of something," James promises. "Let's just play along and hope Hagrid doesn't make it worse."

To both their shock and surprise, Hagrid _doesn't_ make it worse. By the time they shut the door behind them, the enormous Groundskeeper has placed a warm blanket on his table and laid the Dog on top with amazing care, speaking to him in a soft murmur all the while.

James and Remus stare, open-mouthed.

The Dog stops panting, or snapping or even trying to run away. Hagrid hums something under his breath, asks James and Remus to help him wash out the torn paws, cut away the broken claws, explains how to put the joints of each bone back in place without hurting him more.

By the time Hagrid is liberally covering his paws in some mystery ointment and bandages, the Dog is dozing. He hardly even reacts when Hagrid dries him with an enormous towel — "Some things are bes' done withou' magic," — and sets him up by the fire like he's made of cut glass.

"We'll let 'im sleep, try 'im wi' some food later," Hagrid decides with satisfaction, pouring them gigantic mugs of hot chocolate.

"How did you know to do that, Hagrid?" Remus asks curiously, as the three of them settle around the Dog. Remus scratches him behind the ears.

"'E's no' the firs' I've foun' like this," Hagrid answers. "There's all sort o' tunnels in the forest, sometimes animals fall in, get hurt tryin' ter dig themselves ou'."

The Dog's ears prick up, and Remus inwardly groans. He can just about tell what Sirius will be looking for next. Or not, he revises. His claustrophobia seems to have gotten immensely worse.

"D'yeh think this is the dog that bit Sirius?" Hagrid wonders, stroking the Dog's fur gently a little later. "They'd put him down, and 'e's such a gentle animal."

"I don't think he bit Sirius," James says, clearly trying not to laugh. He nudges Remus, who chokes on his hot chocolate.

"Impossible, he'd have bitten us, wouldn't he?" Remus says dutifully.

"Aye, 'e would. You won' tell, righ'?" Hagrid wrings his huge hands worriedly. "The school already was all angreh o'er Fluffy." Remus glances at the enormous three-headed dog that's been sniffing them all curiously. The Dog wags its tail weakly at it.

"Our lips are sealed," James promises.

"Will he be okay?" Remus asks. "His feet are all…"

"Aye, 'is pads will start growin' back as soon as the ointment absorbs proper."

"Can he walk at all?" James wonders.

"He can, bu' I'm sure it hurts him ter. He will be much better in the mornin'," Hagrid says confidently. "Bu' he needs 'is rest, lads."

"What will happen to him now?" James asks Hagrid.

"If 'e wants ter stick aroun', 'e can stay 'ere," is the matter-of-fact answer. "Fluffy likes 'im." Hagrid watches him for a moment. "'E needs a name."

Remus can see the Dog's ears prick up again.

"I know! Barkolomew!" Hagrid exclaims after a moment's thought.

James and Remus burst out laughing. The Dog's ears droop considerably, it only makes Remus laugh harder.

"He doesn't seem to like that name very much," James chortles.

"How about Padfoot?" Remus suggests. "It's about all he's got left to walk on."

"Wha's wrong wi' Barkolomew?" Hagrid asks, makes them burst out laughing again. Even the Dog seems to have found its sense of humour. It wags its tail, resigned to its fate.

"I like Padfoot better," James says, grinning. "Come on, Remus, we have to get to class, we're in enough trouble already for skivving one. Look after him, Hagrid. We'll come back later."

"Aye, bring Sirius if yeh can," Hagrid says, beaming at them. "'E's got a true appreciation fer special animals, an' somethin' tells me, 'e'd get along famously wi' this 'un."

"Sirius is not feeling so well today, he stayed in bed," James says. "But we'll tell him all about Barkolomew."

"We're just leaving him there?" Remus asks James, as they shut the door to the hut behind them.

" _Definitely_." James sounds like he can't believe their luck, but Remus fails to see what the good is in any of this.

"Didn't you see? He fell _asleep_ , Remus. In that dark, closed space. He didn't even try to make a break for it. Hagrid made him feel better. Let's just come pick him up later."

"But—"

"Trust me, Remus," James says confidently. "This is the best place for him, just now."

.

* * *

.

 **TBC** , next week probably, because work is unkind and has kicked my behind. Then again, it is Camp NaNo month!

Okay, so that dragged on like me on a Monday morning, but! Major hurdle crossed. What do you think of it so far? Let me know!

 **Next up:** Life goes on with varying degrees of success. The wolf learns a few things, the boy the wolf wears every day learns a bunch of things, we have a very violent and incredibly dull Quidditch game, Hogsmeade weekends, and there's Easter holidays too. Does it sound a bit bland? Well, that's because it IS! I'm evicting the Blacks from this fic and focusing only on the unicorns, the rainbows, and the honeyed pots o'gold.

…

I'm only joking. Those Blacks love every second of screen time they get!


	8. Spring Moons: One More Day

**Disclaimer:** Notice: this object has been removed as we revise its content and form of expression, which has been found extremely improbable and/or terrifying to small children. Do not wash with like colours. Contents may settle during shipment. No user-serviceable parts inside. If condition persists, consult your physician.

* * *

 **In this Chapter:** Sirius considers staying as a dog for good, Peter doesn't mind eating Hagrid's food, James tries to get Sirius to stop skivving, Bellatrix makes life difficult, Gryffindors trying to save other Gryffindors is not a good combo because nobody runs for cover, Remus frets about Easter, a few things that were lost are found, other things are buried, the Slytherins get wedgies, and a new routine develops.

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 **Thank yous:** To Shayde123 as always, for reading through this like she always does, and because she understands my instant gratification monkey better than I do, and to everyone of you who have not only read all the words but also left your amazing comments and feedback on this rather cray fic. Mwah! I love you all so much! Especially a big thank you to Ziksua for being so excited every time even if I don't feel it's such a grand chapter, and to Son of Whitebeard (I so like that sn) for proving that you don't have to leave long comments to make someone's day! Okay, let's /thegushybits and let's crack on with the story.

* * *

 **Spring Moons: One More Day**

* * *

Remus flips open his wolf journal, as he does every night before he turns in. Past the first page, which contains a very detailed drawing of what he looks like in wolf form, courtesy of Sirius, and the second page, which has his first three entries, it has grown exponentially. Where before every Moon was a blank, he can see how the past few months have changed the way he perceives the world, both in wolf and human form: at first, he held scraps of memories, glimpses of his transformations at home, the first few horrible ones in the Shack, bits and pieces of him and the Dog. Now there are entire paragraphs, pages describing everything in increasing detail; it's not just vague memories— now there are scents and images, sounds and feelings.

It was choppy at first, like a badly-edited film reel, scenes he couldn't connect with each other at all, much less put into anything resembling a timeline. Now every page tells an actual story.

Remus has talked to Pomfrey about it on his weekly check-up, leading her to think that he's just less stressed now. She thinks he isn't blocking the wolf out anymore, because the pain is becoming manageable, the trauma less. He's feeling more comfortable in his skin, because the transformation itself isn't so bad anymore.

The truth of it is something else altogether. The transformation is as painful and terrible as ever, but it's everything else what has changed. He is no longer alone, during the Moon. He is no longer allowed to bite himself and drive himself crazy, because Sirius is there to distract him from it, to keep him company, to fight with him so he doesn't bite himself. He has been there for months.

For Remus, last night's moon was one of the better ones. Beyond feeling bone-weary and a bit achy, today he isn't the worse for wear at all. The one before, though, was the best he's ever had — and as he thinks about the reasons for it and puts quill to the blank page, for the first time, he doesn't write about himself.

Sometime after midnight, he rubs his eyes tiredly, closes his journal with something resembling a sense of purpose. He can't say he's got Sirius figured out — it's clear to him that not even Sirius has managed — but he understands him a whole lot better now. And _maybe_ , maybe, he can return the service his friend has done him.

.

* * *

.

They visit Hagrid early the following morning — much to Peter's chagrin — and find him wearing an enormous pink bathrobe and slippers the size of cider bins.

"Oh, _God_ ," Peter mumbles under his breath, as James instinctively takes a step back and Remus bites back a startled laugh. "I'm going to have nightmares now. Thanks, guys."

"Mornin', lads," Hagrid says cheerfully despite it all and beams at them, bows them inside before they can stammer out that they'll be back later. "Thank yeh fer comin' o'er."

"How's… Barkolomew?" James asks, clearly trying not to laugh at Hagrid's choice of morning wear.

"'E's golden, jus' o'er there," Hagrid waves an enormous hand towards the fireplace, where Fluffy, his large three-headed dog, is pawing playfully at a bunch of blankets, from which a pair of furry black ears are poking. If nothing else, it seems like Sirius has made a new friend.

Hagrid sets plates with some nondescript pastries on the table in front of them, with huge mugs of steaming hot chocolate, while he tells them how he stayed up with Barky all night. Apparently he tried to escape the confines of the hut.

But he's not trying to escape the hut now, Remus notes, glancing over to where Fluffy is trying to get the Dog interested in some tug-o-war, his three heads nipping at the blankets, tugging at a length of rope, and nosing at the Dog.

"How'd you get him to lie still, then?" he asks curiously. It doesn't look like Sirius wants to move. On the contrary, he seems perfectly content to stay where he is.

"I jus' showed 'im there's nothin' ter be afraid of, 'here," Hagrid answers with a shrug, taking a bite of his rock cake with satisfaction. And then he explains how he calms anxious animals down, how all they need is someone to stay up with them sometimes.

They all listen attentively, and Remus privately thinks that it can't be as simple as all that, while he tries to have some of the cakes— but they are tooth-shatteringly hard. Peter seems to enjoy the meal, though, nibbling on the things with undisguised relish.

"I can't believe you can eat that, Pete," Remus says, knocking his rock cake against the table.

"What are you talking about, these are great!" Peter snatches it away and starts gnawing on it, his overlarge front teeth working relentlessly as he polishes it off like it's a soft scone. He reminds Remus of an overgrown hamster, but he bites back a comment, as he and James turn their attention on Barkolomew and go to sit with him by the fire.

Hagrid shows them proudly how his paws have healed — it's clear the Groundskeeper is enjoying the interest in his work as much as he can— and Remus has to agree it is nothing short of amazing, considering the foul-smelling ointment he slathered on them.

"'E'll be good as new before nigh'fall," Hagrid tells them confidently. "All 'e needed was a little 'tenttion."

"Do you have any more of these?" Peter asks from the table just then, holding half a rock cake aloft, and Hagrid smiles even more widely and leaves them alone for a bit to get more of the tooth-breaking things out of his oven.

"You need to turn back," James tells the Dog when they are sure not to be overheard. All he gets in return is a doleful look, then Sirius turns towards the fire again with a heavy sigh. "I'm not kidding, Sirius, what will we tell the teachers— _What_? They'll never in a _million years_ believe you went…" James trails off, frowning. "If we tell them _that_ , they'll send Poops to go look for you. What do you _mean_ , you've got a note? Oh. Right, you bloody sneak. Where did you put it? Fine, fine, I'll try that, but you need to turn back, and soon."

"What did he say?" Remus asks, when James falls silent. The Dog just closes his eyes. Remus scratches him behind the ears, watching him doze; Hagrid did help.

"Apparently the sneaky sod has a whole stack of notes excusing him from class, from his uncle," James replies. "He said to pick one. He doesn't want to turn back. We'll come pick you up at lunch, okay, Pads?"

" _Pads_? We're calling him that, then?" Remus asks, amused despite it all. James shrugs.

"I like the name, don't you?"

"It's beginning to grow on me. What do you think?" Remus asks Sirius, whose tail thumps against the rug from the depths of his blanket.

.

* * *

.

They return at lunch, bringing all sorts of things Sirius likes to eat from the kitchens, but Peter decided he preferred a "proper meal" and stayed behind. Remus suspects he didn't finish his Charms essay last night, but doesn't want to tell them. He did ask for more rock cakes, though, which is bound to make Hagrid's day.

When they arrive, they're greeted by a different sight than they expected.

Hagrid calls to them from behind his hut, where he is giving their friend a bubble bath. Remus' eyebrows shoot up: Padfoot seems to be enjoying himself; paws no longer bandaged, pads no longer torn, he sits obediently in the large wooden tub and lets Hagrid scrub him, carefully untangle the knots in his fur, rinse the bubbly soap off him with a jar.

"He looks skinny," James comments under his breath, sounding a lot like his mother for a moment there. Remus doesn't think it's so bad, though, and evidently Padfoot doesn't, either. He wags his tail upon spotting them, spraying foam and water everywhere, and Hagrid laughs.

"Yeh jus' stay still, Barky," the Groundskeeper says, "Yeh's still wet an' I haven't brushed yeh yet."

Sirius allows himself to be lifted from the tub and wrapped in an enormous towel, his clear eyes shining at them as he lets Hagrid dry him off — "Aren' yeh a good lad?" — and as he approaches, Remus notices he even has some heating charms going on — "We don' want 'im ter catch cold, do we?" — and a huge jar with beef jerky — "I caught 'im tryin' ter get inter it earlier" — but what amazes him every time, is how gentle Hagrid is, his enormous hands working with a precision he'd never given him credit for.

They watch Hagrid dry "Barky" off, and by the end of it, he looks much more like Remus remembers him from the first time he transformed: the sleek coat is soft and shining, and when he stands he doesn't slump or shiver or pant like he's just back from a long run. Whatever Hagrid did, it was exactly what Sirius needed. He doesn't smell of stress and fear anymore either— until Hagrid steps inside to get a brush and James open his mouth.

"You can't stay as a dog," James hisses at him, and Pads's ears go down, flatten themselves against his skull. Apparently, this is an ongoing argument in their minds, because suddenly the stress is back in the air, the fear.

"You _can't_ ," James insists. Pads stares at James, takes a wary step back, and suddenly he is panting again. "This, whatever it is you're doing— it's got to stop, mate. You can't just stay here like this, you _do_ get that, don't you? You've _got_ to turn back— Googles barely bought my excuse. Yes, she took the note but— I'm _telling_ you, you must turn back."

Remus hears something in the panting, and it sounds like, " _No no no no no_ ". It's the first thing he has, without a doubt, heard and understood from Sirius as a dog. He sounds quite afraid.

"What's wrong with letting him, one more day?" Remus interrupts James before he can launch into another little speech. He is well aware that McGonagall didn't quite believe them when they told her that Sirius was just asleep in the dormitory, even if they weren't lying when they claimed he needed his rest; Pomfrey will try to visit, despite Alphard's note that says to just let him sleep undisturbed. "Would you like that?" he asks Padfoot. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

The way Pads' ears prick up is answer enough.

"But—" James protests. Remus shrugs his shoulders.

"We'll think of something, James. You said it yourself, this is the best place for him right now. Let him stay here today. He needs some time to sort himself out." Pads then paws at him, gently, tail wagging. Remus smiles and reaches out to scratch him behind the ears, while James bites his lip with worry.

"Don't worry, Padfoot, we'll think of something." Remus gets a very wet, very slobbery lick for his efforts. Padfoot is panting, " _thanks thanks thanks thanks_ ".

"He likes yeh," Hagrid is back, wielding two oversized brushes. "Yeh can finish groomin' 'im," the Groundskeeper says happily. "I'll be busy makin' them rock cakes, an' I'm makin' some soup if yeh wan' ter 'ave lunch 'ere."

"Sure," they answer. As if they'd go anywhere else right now. Padfoot gives them a doggy grin, nudging the brush and showing them his rear end, and even James has to smile.

"You smug little git," he mutters, but he is chuckling in defeat. "Get your arse over here, then." And he begins brushing and untangling Padfoot's rump and tail with a care to rival Hagrid's. Remus decides not to comment, and focuses on untangling Padfoot's collar.

They work in silence for a bit, and Remus doesn't miss the lulling effect it has on Padfoot; he is rather large, so brushing his coat is an exhausting activity — who knew he had so much bloody fur? — and after a while, he is lying on his side, eyes half-closed as they work their brushes over him. Remus thinks he's fallen asleep again, when his eyes snap open, muscles tensing for action.

"Hey, it's all right, just go back to sleep," James says, but Remus has learnt to use his nose a lot more — James also smells alarmed now.

"You just remembered something, didn't you?" Remus asks Padfoot. "James is right, though, it's all right."

He doesn't expect the huge dog head to bury itself in his belly, and he looks at James for help. All he gets is a shrug, a headshake. Whatever he just remembered, James either doesn't understand it or won't say it aloud, and does it even matter? It's not as if Remus doesn't have a clue what Sirius is struggling with. He might not have any details, but he does have a good idea.

"Just take your time," Remus murmurs, wraps his arms around the bulky, furry frame like he did in the Shack. Something makes it to his ears next. It's almost a whisper, too faint to make out. He looks at Padfoot in surprise.

"He says, thanks," James tells him quietly. "For helping him the other night."

"I… _heard_ that," Remus answers, frowning. "How does that work?"

James shrugs, "I don't know mate, I hear him all the time. Can't help you there."

.

* * *

.

"I think I know what to do," Remus tells James hours later without preamble. It's dark, but he can still see James's sleek hair against the white backdrop of the wall. They resorted to a couple of complicated Glamour spells and a pint of Sleek-Eazy to have him stand in — or lie-in — for Sirius, and the Nurse was so busy casting her diagnostic charms on him she didn't even notice that Sirius's ears were suddenly different, or how he was suddenly six inches taller. She did end up giving him a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion, which wore off at two in the morning.

It's now three a.m., and James is only just starting to wake up fully.

"Wha?" James fumbles for his glasses, gives him a bleary look even after he's put them on. "How?"

"Just do the same he did for me," Remus answers. "Ever since he started joining me in the Shack, I've remembered more every time. Last time, I remembered all of it, the whole moon."

"But you weren't memory-charmed," James counters, sitting up against Sirius's headboard. Remus shuts the curtains and shimmies under James' blankets, leans against the footboard. " _Ugh_ , your feet are cold."

"I wasn't memory-charmed," Remus replies, ignoring him. "But Pomfrey said I blocked it out because of the pain, the stress of it. Since the Dog— I mean, Padfoot — appeared, it's better. It's so much better that I don't need to repress anything anymore, when I remember, it doesn't… it doesn't scare me, because he's there. Maybe he needs something like that too. He does remember things differently as a dog, and I think, it's the smells, the voices, or the—"

"The tunnel," James supplies. Remus nods.

"They trigger those memories, but if they're choppy like mine were, there's no context at first. Just… just pain and fear."

"Yeah. Like flashes of what happened," James agrees. "That's what he keeps seeing. Okay, so what do we do to help?"

"We stick around," Remus answers. "I used to remember stuff at random, whenever he was around, at first. When he wasn't, it was almost like forgetting it all over. If we show him he's got nothing to worry about if we're there, he'll at least have something to hold on to."

"You think that will be enough?"

Remus shrugs, buries himself deeper under the covers, "It's a start."

.

* * *

.

The following morning, James and Remus stomp through the snow bright and early on their way to Hagrid's. Once more, Peter decided not to join them, but he — predictably — asked for more rock cakes. When they reach the hut, however, Hagrid is sitting mournfully on a bench with stalagmites hanging from it, his huge blanket in his hands.

"'E's gone," he sobs, buries his face into it. " _Gone_. I let 'im out jus' for 'is mornin' wee, an' 'e tore off into the Fores', like 'e was bein' chased."

James and Remus pat Hagrid's arm comfortingly, but Remus is inwardly freaking out. If Sirius ran again—

"I'ma look for 'im," Hagrid decides, finishes tying up his huge boots. "I'll tell yeh if 'e turns up, lads. C'mon, Fluffy— search. No, yeh big brute, it's no' walkies. Find Barky, c'mon."

"What now?" Remus asks, watching Hagrid disappear in the thicket, still arguing with his large dog. He is already calculating how much of a headstart Sirius has on them, but when he turns to look at James, he looks relieved.

"He's by the Lake," he says, picks up the basket. "C'mon, we're having our breakfast _al fresco_."

At fourteen, Sirius isn't too developed, which has sparked a hatful of new nicknames of late. He is athletic, but calling him muscular would be a stretch, especially during Winter Term. But as soon as the Summer's pallor has receded — yes, Sirius also gets some colour in Winter, probably because he spends as much time outside as he can — and he's had a few square meals, it's as though his body only processes muscle fibres for the rest of the year. This year, though, hasn't been particularly good to him, and by now he has to look up to meet James's and Remus's eyes. Even Pete's voice is changing, while Sirius doesn't give any indication of ever outgrowing the childish tone. But as he stands there by the lake, looking lost and forlorn, there's an inward curl to his shoulders, and for the first time he looks stooped to Remus, as if the air itself weighs too much.

He looks startled when they arrive, but doesn't protest when they start unpacking the food. He doesn't say much of anything, either, frowning at his chicken sandwich as though it holds the answers to questions he's probably long forgotten.

James and Remus fill him in on yesterday's adventure, what with the Glamour spells and everything, and Sirius watches them with a mild sort of curiosity as they mimic McGonagall's expressions and how she and Pomfrey completely missed it was James lying there and not him.

Even after all that, all he has to say to them is, "Clever."

"I guess," James says, a bit crestfallen. "They bought it, at least."

"Thanks."

"Yeah," James and Remus chorus, but the next moment they've all fallen silent. Sirius, because that's his state unless he's being made to do stuff, James and Remus because sometimes it's damn hard not to be brought down.

And then Peter trots over, jowls wibbling and huffing.

"Here you are! Dude, would it _kill_ you to answer when I call for you? I must've run from the Great Hall to the Pitch, to the—" he leans on his knees, completely winded. "Never mind, too many words. McGonagall is looking for you," he tells James a moment later, when he's caught his breath. "I told her Sirius was still asleep, and— hullo, mate. Are you coming to class? Because McGonagall said it was okay if you didn't feel up to it."

Sirius shakes his head, examines his sandwich again. He looks a bit self-conscious.

 _What happened?_ mouths Peter. James and Remus shrug helplessly.

"You better go see McGonagall," Peter tells James. "She might want to come looking otherwise, and—"

"Yeah, you're right. C'mon. We'll drop you off in the Common Room, Sirius," James answers, getting to his feet.

Sirius shakes his head again, swallows dryly.

"I have a free period," Remus informs James. "I can stay, keep him company."

A moment later, he and Sirius are alone, plunged in an uncomfortable sort of silence. For Remus, at least, it is bordering on unbearable.

"What did you remember?" he asks at last.

"Bits, pieces," Sirius says quietly, looking out at the lake. "It wasn't like my hag of a mother said... I _know_ that now. I remember… sort of. There's bits. It's all choppy, you know?"

"I know," Remus replies quietly, glances over at the ever-present pile of stones at the foot of the tree. "When you first went to the Whomping Willow, I couldn't remember anything. Then it was like you say. Bits and pieces."

"And there's the smells, too— and, and… _things_ , and—" The _fear_. The overwhelming, haunting fear. Sirius doesn't finish the sentence, but there's no need; Remus understands him full well. Sirius flinches when Remus's hand touches his shoulder. He doesn't let go when Sirius tries to jerk away.

"You're still here, though," he points out, gives Sirius an encouraging look when he turns to him, wide-eyed and ringing for breath. "They blasted a _bloody hill_ on top of you and _you're still here_ ," Remus reminds him firmly. "You made it out, remember _that_."

"Just… just… give me—" Sirius wheezes, tries to bat him away. "Go— go away."

"No," Remus interrupts firmly. He's not doing things everyone else's way. Over the past few weeks, he's come to realise what helped him, what _really_ helped him— and Sirius didn't wait around for someone else to come up with a brilliant solution, did he? He didn't tiptoe through the fucking tulips, he barrelled through them and uprooted the entire garden. He didn't even really know if it would work— because he'd make it work regardless— and he _definitely_ didn't ask for Remus's opinion on the matter, maybe because Remus would have said exactly what Sirius just told him. He actually did. "I'm not going anywhere. I wanted you to go away too, remember?"

"That's… that's dif— different."

It's good, Remus muses, that Sirius can still find it in himself to argue even through an anxiety attack.

"No, it's not," Remus replies honestly. "Just _breathe_ , Sirius. It's all right." Sirius stares at him like he's grown a second head, but he does gulp in a deeper lungful of air, then another. Remus figures that's the most shocked he's ever seen him.

The look doesn't really suit him; it's like someone just whacked him with a skillet.

"Deep breaths, now," he says, using the same tone Sirius himself has used with the wolf before. "I'm _here_ , and I'm not going anywhere. Just… Breathe. Focus. It's _over_ , don't forget that."

"It's not," Sirius argues, but he is listening; already he's wheezing less. "It's _not_ , and—"

"I was terrified of the wolf," Remus says quietly. He doesn't know why he's saying this all of a sudden, but he doesn't stop to second-guess himself. "Hated him. I couldn't sleep the week before the Moon because I was so bloody frightened of what would come."

"I… I know." Sirius's voice is soft. Remus isn't surprised, at this point. He never used to miss much, before.

"Now, I'm not so scared anymore. It's a bit easier not to freak out."

"Why?"

"I've got this friend," Remus answers lightly. "He's a bit of an idiot, really, but he's always there when I need him." Sirius is listening, lets out a little laugh. It sounds more like a sob to his ears, but when he looks, the corners of Sirius's mouth are twitching, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"I almost shat myself the first time you stayed," Remus confesses, realises only now he's never really talked about this before, not with Sirius. "Gods, I was bloody _terrified_ , of the wolf, of what I'd do. That I wouldn't know until after. Actually… it's worse than that. I was terrified of the pain, of hurting myself, of going too far. Like you said, I _know_ I'll tear myself to shite and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't run from it, I can't say, not this Moon. And I _am_ afraid, Sirius. _All the time_." Sirius is looking at him now, an expression Remus _knows_ no Black has ever worn before him. Like Remus's pain hurts him too.

"Now though," he adds, past the lump in his throat, "Now it's _different_. I was scared when you stayed. Now, I'm scared if you're not there. With you around… I'm not afraid all the time anymore."

Sirius watches him for a long time.

"You were there," he says at length. "When I was… It felt like I was dying. They said I would…" Sirius frowns, gives his head a shake, dismisses it. "You, and James, though. You were _there_. I'm sure now."

Remus nods, fully aware that Sirius is right, their situations are worlds different. Sirius doesn't turn into a rage monster once a month. He is at the mercy of monsters, for weeks at a time.

"And we're not going anywhere," he reminds him again regardless. How he'll be there for Sirius during the holidays, though, he doesn't know.

"I'm afraid. Of… of her. She's worse than Father."

"Your mother?" Remus asks. To his shock, Sirius shakes his head, that frown still on his face, as if he's trying to hold on to his recollections before they vanish again.

"Mother? N-no. I d-d-don't…" He heaves a sigh, rubs his forehead again. "I don't know."

"Your mother…" Remus takes the plunge. "Does she hurt you? Did she?"

"No," Sirius answers, after a moment's thought. "I don't… No. Others, yeah." He sounds as if he's just recalling it now. "I got into a few fights. A… a _lot_ of fights," he amends, raising his eyebrows. "But… _her_? I don't know."

"Has she ever hurt you before?" Remus presses on.

"What? No. All she ever does is look the other way. She's too lazy to raise her wand… She yells, though. She… she loves to. Yell." Sirius swallows, he looks as though the words leave a nasty aftertaste.

They fall silent again, and Remus wonders if he ought to press on further.

"Why don't I want to go back, though?" Sirius sounds frustrated, as if he's trying to solve a complicated equation.

"Back? You mean, back… _Home_?" Sirius scoffs bitterly at Remus's tentative question.

"If you like," he concedes. "I don't want to go back, I know I _have_ to… but..." he trails off, shakes his head. "All I know is… I gave her the regency and now I'm fucked until I come of age. And I _don't know_ _why_." Sirius heaves a great sigh, forehead firmly pressed against his knees. "I'm bloody frightened, and I _don't know why_. I can't remember."

He rubs his forehead, then kneads the back of his neck. Remus has seen him do this often, over the holidays. He had chalked it up to stress, but it's something else altogether. Sirius did say it hurt to remember; he's been trying, all this time.

"Then stop." It leaves Remus's mouth before he's had time to think of it. "Nobody can force you to. I don't know, Sirius. Maybe you're trying too hard."

"What did you just say?" Sirius asks abruptly.

"You're… trying too hard?" Remus ventures. Sirius shakes his head impatiently.

"Before that. Did you say, "then _stop"_?"

"Yes, I meant…" Remus stammers, trying to find the words to explain. "For me, it sort of trickled back, and it added up, and—"

But Sirius clearly isn't listening; he's looking this way and that, playing with the ring on his finger. He does that often too; turns it around over and over, when he's distracted. But now he's looking at it as though he's seeing it for the first time.

"What's the—"

"Hush." Sirius gives the ring an odd look, as though recognising it, or figuring something out, or _something_ , Remus isn't sure what. Sirius is remembering, that much is clear. He lets out a startled sort of laugh, closes his eyes, the ring pressed against his mouth. He takes a deep breath—

Remus can't believe what he's seeing. The change in Sirius is as evident as it is sudden: his shoulders relax, he takes a shuddering breath, straightens up. He doesn't look weighed down by anything anymore. He looks like _himself_.

"What just happened?" Remus deadpans. He is stunned.

"I _stopped_ ," Sirius answers simply, and he's actually _smiling_ , like he can't believe it himself. "I stopped being afraid." He nods to himself, chuckles.

"What do you mean—"

"It's just this thing I just remembered, long story. Shouldn't we go to see Hagrid?" Sirius prompts. "I can't exactly thank him for what he did, but we should cheer him up. He was pretty heartbroken over losing Barkolomew. Mind you, that dog's a _beaut_."

"Sure, if you want—" Remus is so _lost_. How can anyone just stop being frightened? Like that? Sirius didn't just forget he was scared— if anything, he looks more lucid now than he has in ages. "You sure you're—"

"Positive. Let's go then," Sirius flicks his wand, packs everything up in the basket. He claps Remus on the shoulder, all but leaps to his feet. "Good talk, Moony."

.

* * *

.

It's so _strange_ , at first.

The change in Sirius is not a passing thing, like it is for Remus— _he_ has to constantly keep the wolf in check, has to constantly struggle with his instincts, has to keep reminding himself he's human. Sirius seems to have reached a point where he had enough, turned the page, and _that was it_.

To everyone's surprise — but nobody is more surprised than James, who tore out of the castle moments after it happened and still can't believe it, no matter how many times Remus tells him what he saw — Sirius doesn't lapse back into his previous foggy-minded state. He is more alert, less prone to losing his train of thought at random, and though he is still easily distracted, as long as his attention doesn't waver, it's almost like having the old Sirius back again, even indoors. He decides to go to class for third period, and it's not as disastrous as it could have been; with James's coaching, he even manages to correctly transfigure his rat into a chair, a cauldron, and a goblet.

As long as he's got James around to supply whatever he needs, be it class notes, a quick reminder, or the answer to a question, and Remus and Peter to keep him more or less focused, he manages to make it through the day without a hitch.

Until, that is, he bumps into the Slytherins on the way to the Great Hall that evening.

They're relentless, shouting things like, "Look out, Black! The ceiling's caving in!", or congratulating him for his epic botched spells (which have made the rounds by now, not to mention gotten added to). Slytherins are, as a rule, not very creative; the usual insults and name-calling are heard in the corridors, but the weird thing is… Sirius doesn't react as he used to. Not even when they call him pint-sized, or abbreviated Black, or tell him that he sounds like a girl whenever he opens his mouth, which usually makes him furious.

Instead, Sirius gets scared.

Not when it's Snivellus, of course — some things haven't changed at all — but when Bellatrix and her clique are anywhere in the near vicinity, Sirius grows incredibly anxious, incredibly fast. They, of course, are nothing if not aware of it and make a point of picking on him every chance they get.

"We heard you were sick in bed, widdle Sirius." Sirius freezes upon hearing Bellatrix's voice, stares at her as she shoves past him and blocks his way down the second-floor corridor, as the four of them are on their way to the Great Hall that evening. "Or were you just doing us all a favour and staying out of our sight?"

"Maybe he's just ashamed of himself," says Elladora Moon, grimacing at Sirius as though he's some disgusting sort of slime she's supposed to mop up.

"Did you blast Flitwick's classroom again, baby Black?" Delphina Burke-Black asks mockingly.

"Maybe he vanished some desks," Vega Pilliwickle supplies. "Or forgot how to use the lavatory. I heard he pissed himself during Astronomy."

"Did you piss yourself in class?" Bellatrix asks, her wand out inches away from Sirius's face. Remus can see he has gone very pale, eyes fixed on her with dread.

"Shut up," James snaps, his wand out and at the ready. "Leave him alone."

"Oh look, you've upset him," Narcissa points out, peering in on him and ignoring James altogether. Sirius doesn't answer, but Remus can see he is trembling. "Poor little Sirius, are you about to _cry_?"

"I _would_ cry, if I were as pathetic as he is," says Bellatrix. "Come on, we're late for dinner," she adds abruptly, gesturing for them to leave. When Remus turns around, he sees why: Frank Longbottom is turning the corner now. The Slytherins exchange a look and all laugh, shoving past them as though the corridor isn't wide enough.

"I hate the lot of them," James mutters furiously, yanking his robes into place and giving Frank a grateful nod. "Are you alright, Sirius?"

"Yeah." It's almost inaudible.

It's also a lie.

.

* * *

.

On Saturday, James tries to drag Sirius away to play Quidditch, but he refuses. As far as Remus knows, that's a first, for him. He claims he doesn't really want to, that he has a headache, that he's not up to it. James relents, but he makes him promise he'll be there for the next practice — they have that game against Hufflepuff on the 19th, and it's just one week away.

Sirius decides he's more in the mood for visiting Hagrid instead, and it's then that he starts hanging out in the Groundskeeper's hut, helping Hagrid with the animals. Unsurprisingly, the one Sirius gets along with the best is Fluffy, but he really seems to like it there, because by the following week, it's become the place to look for Sirius if he can't immediately be located.

On Wednesday, Wood makes a scene in the Common Room and threatens Sirius with finding a replacement Beater for Saturday's match, and he reluctantly agrees to play. That night, he stays up late, fixing his broomstick with James. Remus, who is helping Peter with his Ancient Runes essay, notes with satisfaction that, scatterbrained as Sirius has been, when it comes to his broomstick, he's as focused as ever.

Sirius's broom isn't new by any stretch — he's had it since before Hogwarts, because of course, his father never got him a new one as yet another punishment for making Gryffindor — and he's tinkered and tweaked and modified it so much, it's both a miracle it hasn't fallen apart and a feat that it holds its own against James's top-of-the-line Nimbus 1980.

Remus watches James and Sirius work on the broomstick, which includes taking it apart completely and casting a thousand spells, some of them at the same time — "Okay, we'll do it on three." — "On three, and _then_ we go, or we go on _three_ , three?" — "What's the point of, three and then we go? That's like going on four." — Then they go about replacing half the tail, "No, no, Potter. You're doing it all wrong, it's 0.5—" — "I'm cutting point-five!" — "I said millimetres, not inches. Here, let me do it." This, of course, sparks about as many arguments — "You just did away with the gyroscope spell, you dolt! It'll never take off without it!" — "You really have no idea what the gyroscope does, do you?" — "No, but—" — "It makes your broomstick _slower_." — "Can we get rid of my gyroscope spell too, then? Wait, how do you manage to steady the flight path without it?" — "I put extra tension charms on the stirrups and reinforce the flat positioning spells before each game."

If he didn't know any better, he'd say Sirius is back to his old self.

And he _is_ , sort of.

By Thursday morning, after he and James test their recently-turned-ultra-fast broomsticks, Sirius certainly seems to have regained a grip on things.

On Friday night, though, he comes into the Common Room shaking, his hair on end, his school robes in tatters. He doesn't tell them what happened— he glowers at the fire instead, mutters something about going to bed later.

When Remus goes to look for him in the morning, he is still there.

.

* * *

.

Breakfast, too, goes badly.

Bellatrix made a point of sending Sirius a Howler, which none of them hears — he manages to tear out of the Great Hall before it explodes — once again, to the general hilarity of the school population — but when he returns, he is rattled and frustrated… and distracted all over.

Remus and Peter drop James and Sirius off at the changing rooms, already bracing themselves for a crushing defeat — for once, the last thing James wants to do is play Quidditch, and Sirius hasn't said a word since last night's incident.

James even goes as far as offering to talk to Wood and let Sirius sit this one out.

"I _said_ I'd play," Sirius snaps. "Now stop going on about it."

Yep. All in all, the worst-possible start to a day.

Hufflepuff are in high spirits by the time Sylvester Elphick, the flying teacher, blows the starting whistle; everyone seems to be confident about Gryffindor's defeat, and as both teams take to the air, the overwhelming majority is cheering, "GO HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff game lasts for four hours, and it goes down in Hogwarts history as both the most violent and the most boring game ever to have been played at the school.

Chaser Gaspard Shingleton is the first to go down, not five minutes after the starting whistle, when Sirius's first Bludger knocks into the tail of his broomstick and sends him spinning like a top, while one of the Hufflepuff Beaters aims the other at Sirius's back; Sirius barely dodges it, beats it back— and hits Shingleton in the face. Then, three minutes later, the Keeper, a Seventh Year named Amos Diggory, follows suit while trying to block James from scoring. Sirius comes out of a roll, apparently aiming for one of the Hufflepuff Beaters— but then he turns at the last possible second and propels the Bludger so hard into Diggory's stomach, he is sent through the central goal hoop, broom, Quaffle and all.

Gryffindor erupts in loud cheers, and not without reason: Sirius and Caradoc, Gryffindor's other Beater, whizz this way and that, making Chasers let go of the Quaffle to dodge their Bludgers, while James and the Prewett twins score goal after goal as though there's nobody else around.

Not half an hour into the game, the Hufflepuff team is reduced to one Beater, two Chasers and the Seeker, and the spectators are going wild, striking up chants and cheering for Gryffindor at the top of their lungs.

James, Remus sees, is having the time of his life, flying loop-de-loops and showing off as he and the Prewett twins score their five-hundredth point, but Sirius seems to be having less of a good time of it. He hovers for a moment, watching the flyers with a frustrated sort of frown on his face. He gives his club a spin, an experimental swing, and goes in for a dive.

He tears through the remains of the Hufflepuff team, whacks one Bludger at Dodderidge, kicks the other at McNanny— and before either of the Chasers has hit the ground, Sirius races the first Bludger and slams it into the perplexed Beater so hard, she is dislodged from her broomstick and pitches headfirst to the ground.

Sirius dives again, grabs the back of her robes and slows down her fall, amid the crowd's deafening cheers. Instead of returning to the game, though, he then leaps off his broomstick, throws down his club, gloves, headgear… and walks out of the pitch.

Remus decides to follow.

Predictably, he finds Sirius by the Lake, skipping stones.

"Why'd you go?" he asks. "Didn't you hear everyone calling for you to come back?"

Sirius just regards him for a moment, then shrugs one shoulder.

"Honest, everyone is still reeling," Remus insists. "That was—" Brilliant, and fantastic, and awesome, he doesn't get to say.

"I don't know what it was." Sirius doesn't sound happy or accomplished. Instead, he decides to focus on lobbing stone after stone at the water, while the Squid tries to catch them and lob them back.

"It looked pretty damn brilliant from where I was sitting," Remus counters. "You took out almost the entire team!"

"It's not their fault, though." Sirius mutters. "I shouldn't have done that."

"What do you mean? That's your job— you're a Beater!" Remus exclaims. "And that was— kickass!"

"Never mind— it's nothing," Sirius stares at the ring on his finger, then he shakes his head and smiles. It looks forced. "I just… didn't want to wait around for them to catch the Snitch," he explains half-heartedly. "It could take ages."

Remus privately thinks that isn't the truth of it, but he decides to let it slide. Sirius's plate has been so full for so long, he clearly needs a break.

"They're calling you Whacking Black, now," he says instead, picking up a stone to skip on the water as well. Sirius actually chuckles. "Myron even came up with this song and everything. Say what you will, Padfoot— that was an amazing game."

.

* * *

.

When they finally go to the castle around lunch, they're intercepted by an excited mob of Gryffindors carrying the team aloft, who strike up a chant of:

" _You say Gryffindors are losers? Take it back!_

 _You just got whipped by Whacking Black!_

 _He's here, watch out, he don't care about the snitch_

 _The only thing he really wants is to throw you off the pitch_

 _You might greet him with a snub,_

 _Watch out when he swings that club!_

 _You'll have a hard time trying not to pout,_

 _'_ _Cos Whacking Black just knocked you out!_ "

"Where have you two been? It's Hogsmeade Weekend and we're going, all of us." James shouts at them, grinning widely as he lands in front of them. "Make a proper celebration of it. It's not every day we score 1880 points in a single game, is it?" He's so ecstatic, not to mention contagious, that not even Sirius can refuse.

.

* * *

.

Remus isn't sure if it's quite _proper_ , but it's certainly a celebration, and it's not restricted to Gryffindor House — Ravenclaw has grounds to celebrate too, after all: Hufflepuff's defeat just propelled them to the finals. They'll play Gryffindor in the Summer, and it's Gryffindor who will have to play against the dreaded Slytherins after the Easter holidays. Remus has even spotted a bunch of Puffers in the crowd— as a rule, they're not sore losers, and a party is a party.

By the end of it, he's covered in red tinsel and not quite sure how he got tangled in it, much less how he got into that one glass of mead. It's difficult to ask anyone around, because they're all more or less in the same giddy state as himself.

Then again, it's not exactly a mystery — they decided to commandeer Aberforth's pub, and Dumbledore's brother is typically lax when it comes to slipping them a bit of the stronger stuff. He was very happy when his pub was filled to bursting with overexcited kids, and Remus suspects that along the way, a keg of Butterbeer and a bottle or two of spirits may have wound up in their possession.

"You just got whipped by Whacking Black!" Ravenclaw's Myron Wagtail belts out at the top of his lungs as they're making their collective way back to the castle, and once more, everyone joins in.

"I'll write a second verse sometime," Myron promises, making everyone laugh, even Sirius, whose mood seems much improved. Then again, he did disappear from the pub for a while there; when he came back, he looked much happier, so Remus suspects it was for a snog or something.

Up ahead, Peter and James are singing loudly, supporting each other. The Prewetts, Caradoc, Wood and Fenwick are singing a five-part harmony that sounds very little like the original song, but everyone's giggly so it doesn't matter. Even Frank and Alice are swaying a little too much and laughing a bit too hard.

"I'm hungry," Remus mutters, tugging at the tinsel. Next to him, Sirius gives him a sideways glance. "I want a big, juicy, dripping leg of lamb. Better yet, the _whole_ lamb."

Sirius, predictably, is all for it. He suggests the Kitchens. Remus concurs.

They break away from the group when everyone else is sneaking back to their Common Rooms, and soon they're being waited on by a handful of happy elves, who don't have lamb, sadly, but they do have quite the collection of delicious replacements instead.

"…And we'll want the same again to take away," Sirius tells the elves a while later, when it's nearing midnight and they are both full to bursting with chunks of meaty goodness.

They're in high spirits as they strike up one of the main hallways to the Grand Staircase — Sirius declined Remus's offer to take some of the hidden passages to the Common Room, so they have to take the long way round — when Sirius suddenly stops short.

"Ah, _blast_. She's here," he mutters, eyes darting around the hallway, clearly trying to find a way out. He has gone pale, curses under his breath as he realises there is nowhere to hide.

"What's the matter?" Remus asks blankly, past his mouthful of flank steak. "Dude, I don't hear—"

"Let's get out of here," Sirius whispers, already backtracking their steps.

"Sirius, there's—" Not nothing, Remus realises next. There's Bellatrix, turning a corner. Her face splits into a wide grin as she spots them.

"Look at _you_ , baby cousin," she croons, as three more figures appear behind her. At a glance, a bunch of Seventh-Years. "Fancy seeing you here, all out-of-bounds with your favourite Mudblood half-breed."

Sirius freezes, the bone he'd been gnawing on rolls onto the floor. He doesn't move as Bellatrix steps towards him, hips swaying and a sneer on her face. He doesn't even flinch as she pats his cheek, eyes wide in fear as she says, "You and I have so _much_ to talk about, baby cousin. Let me just take care of the half-breed first."

Remus inwardly curses as she zeroes in on him, he fumbles for his wand—

"I— I knew I smelled sulphur." Sirius's voice is soft, but it makes her stop short. The three goons she's got with her burst out laughing, and she whips around, her wand in her hand. "And, you know, the stench of cloven hooves," he adds, staring up at her while he signals for Remus to get out of here behind his back. Remus can't just leave him here, though, can he?

" _What did you just say_?" she snarls, towering threateningly over him. Sirius leans away from her.

"It wasn't sulphur," he amends. Remus can see he is trembling, fingers twitching at his side, still trying to get him to leave, but Remus isn't about to budge. He is thinking of a spell, looking for an opening... "It was just your breath. It precedes you like a noxious cloud."

This makes the Slytherins laugh harder. Remus recognises Rowle, MacNair and Mulciber as they approach. He takes a step back, mind racing for a spell to at least distract them, a quick escape route— there's one tunnel behind a tapestry around the corner they just turned.

"As mouthy as ever," says Mulciber to Bellatrix, his tone mocking. "I thought you said you had him _sorted_."

"Yeah," adds Rowle. "Didn't you tell us he wets himself every time he so much as sees you?"

"He's just a little _fool_ who thinks too highly of himself," Bellatrix sneers. "Wins _one_ Quidditch game and his head gets too big for his own good." Remus raises his wand—

The next moment, he is slammed against the wall.

Remus can't even turn his head enough to see who's got him immobilised — a spell is pressing him against the stone, and an overlarge hand has his neck in a vice. He can't even call out. He can see Sirius and his cousin quite clearly, though.

"Mind like a scrambled egg, though. He can't even cast a Levitation Charm without mucking it up," Bellatrix says nastily, now pacing around Sirius, as if trying to decide what spell to hex him with first. "Ever since uncle Orion died, he can't focus to save his _life_."

"At least I won't get held back two years because of it, Trixie," Sirius says after a moment, still staring unblinkingly at her. His voice is shaking.

Bellatrix blushes deep crimson as the rest of them jeer and go, _"oooooooh_."

"You _were_ held back, weren't you?" Sirius goes on, undeterred. "First _and_ Second Year, because of your botched spellwork, right? Or was it your inability to retain basic facts? I forget."

"You'd do well in retaining some _basic facts_ yourself, baby cousin," Bellatrix's wand is pressed against Sirius's cheek. "Or do I have to give you another _reminder_?" Sirius sucks in a breath, and Remus can all but _see_ something clicking into place in Sirius's mind.

"You might want to be careful with that," Sirius responds, but his voice is no longer shaking. He seems to have found his swagger again. "Wands are dangerous in the hands of the inexperienced. You might take someone's eye out."

"I'll take _your_ eyes out— _Contreo_!"

The flash of light is blinding. It is also followed by a loud _CRACK_! as the spell hits the wall, sending a cloud of dust and bits of stone flying every which way.

" _Profligo_!" Sirius's voice rings out, and it cracks in the middle of the word— but the spell is nothing if not effective. Suddenly, Remus is let go and slides to the floor, while Sirius's cousin and her goons are thrown across the hallway against the wall. _"Liquefacium_ ," Sirius snaps, and it's as though the wall becomes molten chocolate, pulling Bellatrix into it. Sirius flashes his cousin a grin, snaps his fingers. " _Durum_."

" _Noooo_! You little shit, I'll get you for this!" Bellatrix screeches, straining to escape the wall's hold as it hardens around her. Only half of her sticks out of the wall after: one leg, one arm, half her face… and the tip of her wand, which pokes out through the stone like a cloak peg. Sirius stares at her with fascination.

The commotion has stirred the portraits though, and the hallway suddenly erupts in shouting of, "Fire! Fire! Fiiiiire!" and, "We're under attack!" and, "Help! Help!" and Bellatrix's garbled shriek of, "WAIT YOU IDIOTS! GET ME OUT OF HERE!" Mulciber, MacNair and Rowle, though, are beating a hasty retreat.

"Let's get out of here," Remus suggests, grabbing Sirius by the front of his robes and pulling him along. "There's a tunnel to the Fourth Floor behind the tapestry of the spider monkeys."

" _Tunnel_?" Sirius's voice is a squeak. Remus inwardly groans, but it's drowned out by Filch's yelling.

"Oy! _Oy_! Who is there?" he shouts, and as he skids with Sirius around the corner, Remus has a glimpse of him in a knitted cap, his braces flying wildly behind him as he thrusts a mop at Bellatrix "I warn you— I am armed! So don't try anything funny!"

"It's the only way out," Remus tells Sirius hurriedly. "Want to try it?"

"They went that way!" Bellatrix shrieks, and suddenly the caretaker's, "Oy! OY!" sounds like it's entirely too close.

"Yeah, let's. Tunnel sounds good," Sirius agrees, and they both hurtle through the opening a split second later, Filch's, "Oy! Over here! I _am_ armed!" echoing down the now deserted corridor.

Sirius doesn't lose it in the tunnel.

He and Remus stare at each other for a long moment, listening hard for any tell-tale sounds of the Slytherins coming back, or Filch's cat hunting for them. During that time, all Remus can see are Sirius's too-wide eyes shining in the dark, all he can hear is the thumping of both their hearts, the sound of their breathing. He wants to ask Sirius if he feels alright.

What comes out instead is, "You made the wall eat her up."

"Only half of her," Sirius quips. "I guess she tastes so bad not even a bunch of rocks want her."

Then he bursts out laughing. Remus is so relieved, he joins in.

.

* * *

.

Sirius doesn't speak of anything that happened over the past few months again.

Remus doesn't mention it, either; he, James and Peter, are so relieved to have him back, they are willing to never find out how the hell Sirius shook the whole thing off. Sure, he'll still brood on occasion, he'll still be easily distracted, _and_ he's started to play chess with Regulus on Tuesday afternoons, but other than those odd quirks, it's almost like he never even left.

Everything settles down in the two weeks following the incident with Bellatrix, which had the school buzzing for days, mainly because she wouldn't tell who hexed her into the wall, and because Dumbledore and Flitwick couldn't pry her off the stonework until Wednesday, so it was basically like having her in the stocks for four whole days, and Remus would be lying if he and his friends didn't make a point of pelting her with rotten eggs every chance they got. He'd also be lying if he said they were the only ones.

Things change dramatically during this time. Maybe it's that the Slytherins suddenly leave Sirius alone; maybe it's that even Bellatrix gives him a wide berth unless it's unavoidable, or maybe it's the continued cheer over having won the game against Hufflepuff, which has all Gryffindors in excellent moods, but it feels as though things are finally falling into place. Sirius at least, seems to be lapsing back into his own.

Classes become more demanding, and the teachers seem to think they'll get into less trouble if they're up to their noses in homework; Wood has decided to take James's advice to heart and came up with a new training schedule for the Gryffindor Quidditch team that keeps James and Sirius on their broomsticks every morning before breakfast and all mornings on weekends. In short, they're kept _busy_. So busy, in fact, that Remus doesn't really think anything of it when Sirius vanishes with James and Peter sometimes, when his friends are nowhere to be found. Remus himself has to hurry every day after lunch to get his schoolwork sorted, since he has to keep Peter focused on his Charms and Ancient Runes and Sirius focused, full stop.

Sirius spends part of his afternoons hanging out at Hagrid's, helping look after the school's many animals rather than taking endless walks in search of trolls to bite. He also has a penchant for getting into weird accidents on the days surrounding the Full Moon. Riding the Erumpent. Fooling around with the Hippogriffs. Trying to tickle a sleeping Manticore.

Certainly, he and Remus still go out for long romps before dinner, but the days when the Dog would tear off like he'd lost his mind are a thing of the past. They explore now — and hunt the occasional woodland creature.

They've also taken up their old hobby of exploring the castle again, which the four of them had missed terribly. Remus is well aware they started looking for passages and interesting chambers because he used to do so badly around the Moon before; now, though, he doesn't need a distraction from the wolf, and though it's certainly therapeutic for Sirius, who still dislikes closed, cramped spaces, they're all doing it for fun.

"You know," Sirius tells them one day, as they're squished inside a tiny chamber trying to peer down at a cave filled with crystals below, "we should map this place out."

"Is there enough parchment in the world for that?" Peter asks, making them all laugh.

"I mean it," Sirius insists. "We could map out the whole castle, and make it so that we can see what's going on everywhere. We could charm it to show what people are doing, even what they're saying."

"We could spy on _everyone_ ," Remus says.

"We'd never get caught again!" exclaims Peter.

"Yeah, because you're such a lousy look-out, that even a piece of parchment could do a better job" James chortles. Peter shrugs, pops a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"You know, Padfoot, that's not a terrible idea," Remus decides. "Let's try it. If nothing else, it'll be fun."

.

* * *

.

But no matter what else is going on, how busy they are or how tired, Remus and Sirius are always together on the week leading to the Moon. Those days, where instincts easily override Remus's human wants and needs, Sirius is never far away from him, and he doesn't leave his side from Moon Eve until the Full Moon sets. Moon Eve belongs to Remus and Sirius, just as the Moon belongs to Moony and Padfoot.

This, Remus finds, is the only routine he can't possibly live without: Starting with their traditional beef dinner on the eve of the Moon.

In March, for the first time, Remus fails to snatch half of Sirius's steak.

"Mine!" he snarls, something he's not yet managed to grow out of. Much as it makes sense closer to the New Moon, on Moon Eve Remus becomes "self-centred and selfish to the point of violence," as Sirius put it one day. On the New Moon, Remus actually feels a bit self-conscious about it; not so on Moon Eve. With the wolf raring to come out, he doesn't give a flying fig what Sirius thinks about manners and sharing. He actually finds the way Sirius weighs out the beef or pork or lamb into two precise halves every time ridiculous and amusing.

Usually, he gets his way, takes off with the lion's share and leaves Sirius to decide what freak accident he'll have in the morning.

"Not today," Sirius growls, fangs already reflecting the torchlight overhead.

" _Whoa_ , guys—" James leaps out of the way as Remus lunges over the table, sending their dinner, the table and Sirius flying.

"MIIINE!" roars Remus, already scrambling to grab his prize. Sirius grabs him by his belt, though, and tosses him backwards.

"I — said — _NO_!" he snarls, and a moment later, they're rolling around the dining room in the Shack, while James and Peter, who had asked to join them for their customary beef dinner and are quite possibly regretting every second of it, scramble to stay out of their way.

But this is how their dinners usually go— and this time, it ends as it usually does as well, except it's _Sirius_ staring at Remus triumphantly while strip after strip of meat vanishes into his greedy mouth.

Remus makes a grab for the last one— the yummy morsel with the sinew and bone and fat — and they end up rolling on the floor once more, entangled in another epic scuffle.

"Um, guys?" James ventures a moment later, when they're just glaring at each other from opposite ends of the table, fangs bared on both of them. Remus is beyond annoyed. Times like these, he regrets ever getting a packmate. Times like these, all he can think of is, he wouldn't have to share _anything_ at all if this bloody dog weren't around.

The wolf doesn't like losing — he never _should_ lose, especially not against this domesticated bloody _dog_ — and damn, there are sparks flying now.

Something crashes somewhere out of sight. There's a shriek from the kitchen, another from the front room.

Sirius' glare withers not a jot, but he does sound like he's biting back a laugh when he remarks, "You just smashed the teapot, you clot."

Remus looks dangerous when he retorts, "And you just cracked the window, you tosser."

Sirius grins. So does Remus. An instant later, they both fall about laughing.

James and Peter stare at them, gaping.

"Dudes, you're insane," James deadpans. Then he picks up his alfalfa from the floor and chews thoughtfully on it, while Peter moans that he didn't even get to make some tea, and do they have any peanuts?

.

* * *

.

The Moon itself is different too, now. Remus isn't sure how Sirius comes up with this stuff, but he doesn't ever do the same thing twice. Sure, there's some things that become a staple, he muses, spitting out a fang as he writes in his wolf journal the following morning.

Like, fetch. Sirius absolutely _loves_ to play fetch, and it's gotten interesting since he procured a bag full of Fanged Frisbees to keep the wolf engaged in the game. A bit hard on his digestive system, Remus decides, burping out another fang, but definitely engaging. However, it's all those other things he does that keep the wolf on his toes. He has begun to look forward to the Moon, mostly because he never knows what to expect.

And this is new.

In February, Sirius hid meat around the house again, but he transfigured it into random bits of furniture, driving Moony mad trying to snatch it all before it turned into paintings and books and whatnot. Last night, he transfigured the meat into Screaming YoYos and left those all over the place.

It's only when Remus writes it down that he realises, Sirius just bloody _pranked_ the wolf.

.

* * *

.

Sirius gets his first detention of Spring term mere moments after leaving the Shack, Remus finds out upon returning to the castle… because he walks into McGonagall bearing down on his craziest friend in the Entrance Hall.

"Mr. Black, this is serious," McGonagall snaps, gesturing at a group of students, and then cringes for her poor choice of words. Sirius gives her an impish smile, clearly trying not to blurt it out.

He manages for a full five seconds.

"Pleased to meet you, Sirius," he says, battle lost. McGonagall sighs.

"Where were you last night?" she asks, frustrated.

"Hogwarts, ma'am." One thing might be said for Sirius: he is perfectly polite when he's getting grilled.

"Someone charmed every House's underwear to acquire the House's colours," she informs him.

"Did they." Sirius watches her expectantly. When nothing is immediately forthcoming, he adds, "Clever."

"While this isn't so bad in itself," McGonagall goes on, now gesturing at the group of Slytherin students standing miserably nearby, "this is."

"Oh, I agree," Sirius tells her, nodding. "That lot in particular are a shame to this school. Disgraceful." He winks at his cousins, Vega and Phineas, Delphina and Narcissa.

" _No_ ," McGonagall corrects, and Remus can see she is trying not to let out a defeated chuckle, "I meant… _this_." She checks her watch, then gestures at the students. All of them jump up as one, hands flying to their rears, yelping and yammering most pitifully. "Every three minutes, the Slytherin House underwear gives the wearers, ah… a…"

"A what, Professor?" Sirius asks curiously.

"A… wedgie." McGonagall's expression is priceless. "They cannot take it off, and it's already disrupting the smooth running of this school." And this might be said for _her_. She _tries_ for stern. _Really_ tries.

Sirius's smile becomes a grin, and now a chuckle escapes him despite his best efforts. He hasn't torn his eyes from the Slytherins, who are now reaching around themselves, to dislodge their knickers from their buttcracks. Some of them look like they're trying to pull them out of their throats.

"What's funny, Mr. Black?" McGonagall asks.

"You can't deny it's a little funny," Sirius replies.

"Tell us how to reverse those spells, Mr. Black," Flitwick cuts in, and he sounds pleading. The diminutive Charms Master does seem to be at a loss. "We haven't managed so far, and it's putting an entire _House_ through considerable distress."

"Oh, I appreciate the problem, _certainly_ ," Sirius says, unrepentant, gesturing at the Slytherins. "And I'm flattered that you'd think that I, a simple Third Year student, could actually help _you_ reverse those spells. I'm honoured, even, Professor. But," he adds, "that doesn't mean I have a solution to your problem."

"You _did it_ , you little snot!" Narcissa snaps. Sirius gives her his most innocent look ever. "Put it right!"

"I _couldn't_ , dear cousin!" he says, looking affronted, but he can't stop grinning.

"What were you doing outside, then?" McGonagall snaps.

"I was with Hagrid," Sirius replies promptly. "The Erumpent is teething _and_ has dry rot. You can ask him, Professor. I even got bitten while trying to brush his teeth, just earlier." He shows her an ugly-looking gash on his shoulder, where the wolf bit him during last night's row over the last morsel. Which Padfoot _lost_ , Remus recalls with satisfaction.

As Sirius is ushered to the Hospital Wing, the Slytherins all give a collective jump and a squeak.

"And, pray tell," McGonagall asks, as she's leading Sirius down the corridor, "Where were you _before_ visiting our Groundskeeper?"

"Oh, the Laundry Room."

.

* * *

.

As Easter approaches, Remus becomes increasingly fretful. There is a Moon during the holidays, but he promised his parents he'd be there, having missed spending Christmas with them and everything.

Of course, the School Nurse has told his parents of his amazing improvement, and they are beside themselves with joy, so he can't bring himself to tell them it's over half a lie. They want to go places, this Easter. They want to pretend they're a normal family, with a normal child, who just spends one night wearing fur and is none the worse for wear in the morning.

For the first time since October, Remus finds himself dreading the waxing moon.

Of course, he tells his friends, but aside from multiplying the worry by four, none of them really has a solution beyond Sirius spending the Moon with him at home— and wouldn't that be sheer utter chaos.

"We could apparate over," James offers, "then pick Sirius up without your parents being any the wiser. I'll tell Hinky, he's really good about it."

Their plans are shattered, though, when three days before end of term, Sirius receives a scroll from his mother, requiring him home for the break.

"Can't you get out of it?" James asks. He wasted no time letting his parents know that Sirius would be joining them for Easter, and to bear that in mind when planning trips abroad.

Sirius shakes his head, looking every bit as worried as Remus feels.

"Alfie will pick me up at King's Cross. Maybe I can sort things out, stay with him instead." He doesn't sound convinced, though. "Maybe if we learn to charm Portkeys…"

"It'll take us longer than three days to do that," Peter counters.

"If _you_ could—" Sirius starts, looking pleadingly at James and Peter, but they both shake their heads, and Remus never finds out what it was he wanted to ask of them.

In the end, they don't figure it out.

The train ride to London is a decidedly cheerless affair, and Remus can't think of a time when he's wanted to go home less than he does now. They go through the motions, though, play Exploding Snap, and chess, and Sirius does the crossword, but by the time they're chugging into London, they're all plunged in a tense sort of silence. James and Peter look a bit ill, Sirius frowns at his paper and Remus just frets.

.

* * *

.

Coming home is bittersweet. His parents are excited to have him back, and they want to hear everything he's been up to in the past six months. Remus, however hard he tries, isn't up to it.

For the first time in ages, he has trouble sleeping in his bed, spends half the night staring at the waxing moon, wishing it would slow down. He's never hated being a werewolf more than he does now, and with each passing day, he becomes crankier. It's as if the wolf knows it won't get to play with Padfoot, tonight.

On Moon Eve, he cannot bear it any longer. To his parents' dismay, he announces he'll spend the night in the basement, and to seal and silence the door and windows.

His mum makes him a pile of sandwiches, gives him a kiss on his head, and then leaves, clearly in tears.

Remus looks around the basement, trying to get comfortable with the idea of spending the Moon here. It looks like a bog-standard Muggle basement, if you're willing to overlook the reinforced steel cage in the corner, the bars inside and outside the windows, and the magical walls that sprout up from the ground to protect the washer and the furnace.

He takes one of the sandwiches, gives it a mournful sigh— and nearly drops it when knocking makes him jump about a foot in the air.

Squatting to peer through the grimy basement window, dressed in white tails and a bowtie, is Sirius.

"Hey, Remus," trails faintly to Remus's ears, as he scrambles to undo a bunch of spells and opens the window. "Get rid of the bars," Sirius instructs, pulling a heavy linen sack to the window. "This will be a tight fit."

.

* * *

.

 **To be concluded.** And since it will be concluded… why not opinionise… opiniate… *sigh* why not tell me what you think of it so far? And… should I do an epilogue with older Remus? Hm. Not sure, what do _you_ think?

 **A/N:** A'ight, guys and gals of the internets, this is the next-to-last installment of this fic, at least that's what my fic outline says, and you know how I _never,_ ever ever go beyond the planned outline, ever!


	9. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

**Disclaimer:** This document should be read only by those persons to whom it is addressed. If you have received this message it was obviously addressed to you and therefore you can read it, even it we didn't mean to send it to you.

* * *

 **In this Chapter:** Remus and Sirius dabble in interior decoration, James has trouble with floors, doors, and fixtures, Peter grows a tail, the Forest is explored further, and the seeds of a legend are sown.

* * *

 **Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs**

* * *

.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asks, overjoyed, but he still looks around as though his parents would hear.

"What do you _think_?" Sirius gives the linen sack a good shove. It falls onto the stone floor with a _thump_ and a _squelch_. He then squeezes down the window, getting his stark white tailcoat dirty, and Remus hurries to make the bars on the window reappear right after. "Why are you down here today? Mind you, it's very convenient. I don't think your parents would appreciate me barging in just now."

"I was having trouble not snapping at them," Remus replies, but he's overjoyed to see Sirius tonight and his nonchalant tone is more than coated in excitement. "I figured it would be safer down here."

Sirius thinks about it for a moment. Then he shrugs, "Okay, fair enough." The next instant, he's looking at the steel cage, rattles the bars. Remus watches him. He looks pale in the harsh light of the bare light bulb overhead, with rings under his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks. Sirius does look rather ill.

"Some allergy or other, maybe a touch of flu," he answers absently, now stepping inside the cage with a frown and regarding it critically. "You know, McGrumpypants… It'll be a bit cramped in here tomorrow."

"It usually is," Remus replies, now approaching the discarded sack, on which a red stain is slowly spreading. "What's this?" he asks curiously.

"I've got a bone to pick with you," Sirius tells him with a grin, stepping out of the cage and revealing the contents of his sack. "Again. This one's yours. This one's mine. I even got you the meatier one."

Remus snatches the cow's leg greedily, his eyes glowing yellow, fangs growing in his mouth despite himself. Sirius ignores him for once, his focus back on the cage. "We should make this thing larger, Remus. We won't fit. Hold on, let me just see if I can—"

He draws his wand, begins to tap on the steel bars, the crunching sounds of Remus gnawing on his leg bone in the background. Somehow, he isn't sure how — and he doesn't even really care, now he is happily entertained — Sirius manages to make the cage double its size.

"Now, what did I tell you, Moony?" he asks, when he realises what Remus has been up to while he was working. "This one's mine." He points at the other cow's leg, which Remus is sitting on. _"That_ _one's_ yours. _Only_ that one."

"I thought you brought me two?" Remus jokes.

"I'll trade you for those sandwiches over there," Sirius offers, not jumping at him for once. "What are they?"

"Chicken and mustard. Go for it." Sirius doesn't need telling twice; already he's digging into the pile of sandwiches with enthusiasm.

"Real food! Gods, Mama Moony can _cook_!"

"Don't call her that," he chides, but he stops to stare when he watches Sirius inhale his dinner like he's starved, posh manners forgotten. He decides to let him have the other leg bone, after all.

"You know, Moony… we need some chairs or something. The floor here is cold."

Remus, who has never spent a day in the cellar outside the cage, suddenly realises Sirius is right. With him here, they won't even need to get into the cage tomorrow, right?

They begin by transfiguring some old rags into cushions and things, and Sirius is fascinated with the concept of electrical appliances and the light fixtures, which Remus finds amusing to no end. He also has to prevent him from sticking his fingers in the power socket.

"Just like a clubhouse," Sirius establishes, as they turn an old soapbox over. Remus has to bite back a laugh; already the cellar looks nothing like what he'd have considered a clubhouse; there are two settees, a coffee table, a bunch of comfortable-looking cushions. All they need is a roaring fire, and this place could compete with their Common Room.

.

* * *

.

"I'll be here, Moony."

Those had been Sirius's parting words, and Remus feels much lighter as he joins his parents upstairs, surprising a few years out of them.

"I just needed a bit to myself," he explains to his overjoyed mother. "Thanks for the sandwiches, they were excellent."

"You won't stay downstairs tonight?" Lyall asks him. Remus shakes his head.

"No. I'll just… go down after lunch tomorrow, is that okay?"

"It's brilliant!" his mum exclaims, wraps him in a big hug. This time, her tears are tears of joy.

The next morning, his dad helps him wrestle an old couch into the basement. They wedge it beside the cage, and if Lyall notices that it looks bigger now, he doesn't comment. Remus then picks out some books and goes downstairs to read. Sirius said he'd be coming. Of course, he didn't say _when_.

It's around four o'clock when he takes a loo break and hears a tell-tale crack! In the basement. His mum is watching the telly, and he gives her a kiss, tells her he'll be back in the morning. She gives him a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of sandwiches and locks the door behind him.

"I've got us some snacks," Remus announces, hurrying down the steps. "And Exploding—" Remus nearly drops the platter in shock. Standing there, examining the cage, is not Sirius.

" _James?!_ " Remus shrieks in alarm.

"Yeah!" James is the exact opposite of Sirius, his golden-brown skin the perfect picture of health. And he smells of beach and sand and utter excitement.

"What are you doing here?!" Remus asks in alarm. "It's the Moon, tonight — Where's Sirius?"

"I know it's the Moon, I'm not daft," says James, looking around and deciding to cast a handful of Silencing Charms. "He says he might not make it as usual, some dinner party or ceremony or other, but he promises he'll be here before moonrise if he can."

Remus's heart sinks so fast, he fears he'll have to fish it from between his ankles. James, however, just gives him an overjoyed look.

"But worry not, my furry friend, I am here. Oy, that's quite the setup you've got here."

"He's been helping me decorate," says Remus, confused. "But you can't stay here. Not tonight."

"I can," James counters, "and I will." He sounds so certain, smells of nerves and adrenaline and— _animal_.

"You too?" Remus asks blankly. Now Sirius isn't here with his overwhelming predator smell, he has finally noticed it. James isn't human; he's sort of smelled of grass for ages, though, but somehow he hadn't made the connection. He hadn't with Sirius, either, really.

"You didn't know?" James stares at him as though he's got his fur on.

"No, I—" Remus stammers, but James only chuckles, shakes his head in defeat.

"He didn't tell you, did he."

"That you're— you're—"

"Animagus is the proper term, Remus. Yes, we've been trying for _ages_ , ever since First Year. I can't _believe_ he didn't tell you about me, I had it down last night, too."

"He didn't even tell me what he was," Remus answers, stunned.

"Well, _surprise_!" James opens his arms wide, his grin even wider. Remus is very touched, and oh, _so_ confused. "I got you these, Sirius said you'd like them." He hands Remus a huge stack of steaks.

"Do you… want one?" Yes, Remus has gotten shocked into sharing. James looks revolted.

"Ugh, no, keep them. I brought cress sandwiches in case I get hungry. Let's fix that sofa, shall we?"

With moonrise scheduled at half eight, Remus and James spend the afternoon playing Exploding Snap and catching up on their holidays. Soon, James's cress sandwiches are gone, as are the steaks, and Remus is itching to see what kind of animal James is, but he refuses to turn for him.

"Not until Sirius gets here. I promised, Moony."

Only, time ticks by and there is no sign of their friend. Remus begins to shift around restlessly, and when his watch chimes eight, even James is starting to look worried. They are both still startled when Sirius and Hinky appear with a loud _crack_! a moment later.

"Cheers, Hinkster," Sirius says, staggers to the recently-fixed sofa and loosens his bow tie. He is wearing dress robes again, this time with a black tailcoat that looks more expensive than the Lupins' combined wardrobes put together.

"Sirius! I thought you weren't coming," Remus exclaims.

"You need to work on your faith," Sirius scoffs. "I said I'd be here, didn't I?" He is holding a handkerchief to his cheek, which is quickly getting soaked in blood.

"What happened to you?" James demands. It's a fair question. Somehow, he looks impossibly worse than he had last night.

"Fell down the stairs at my aunt's."

"Doesn't look like a fall." James crosses his arms.

"No, it doesn't, does it." The smell of fresh blood quickly becomes overwhelming in the small space, and Remus lets out a growl despite himself. Sirius gives him a warning look. "Don't you _dare_ bite me again," he warns, as James examines the cut, raises his wand to stop the bleeding. All the while, he's shooting uncertain glances at Remus.

"You didn't tell him about me," he tells Sirius instead.

"It didn't come up."

"You didn't tell him about Peter, either?"

"Peter is in on it too?" Remus asks, and Sirius lets out a laugh. How did he not notice?

James shoots Sirius a concerned look, but Sirius gives him a dismissive wave. While James launches into a story that explains every last instance his friends have vanished at odd times, woken up more tired than they did before bed, what they got up to when he was studying in the Library, Sirius casts a healing spell on the cut on his face, cleans himself up, frowns at the bloodstained waistcoat he's wearing.

"Do you think Hinky can scrub this off?" he asks, interrupting James's account of how they hid their endeavours, how Sirius had been keeping Remus busy so he wouldn't notice. "I'm supposed to be sorting it out."

"You're such a nancy," James snorts, but he does take the bloodstained waistcoat and claps for his elf.

"I'm not a nancy, you twat," Sirius argues, but he already looks in a better mood: he's spotted the sandwiches. Remus gives him a nod, glad that today at least, Sirius doesn't look half as hungry as before.

"Hinky, wash this thing, will you? Sirius needs it back by moonset, because he's a nancy boy."

"Yes, Master James!"

"Pillock," Sirius tells him fondly, his mouth full to bursting.

"Ponce."

"Tosser."

"Dingleberry."

"Mutt."

 _"_ _Bambi_."

Remus has to laugh despite it all.

"You could've stayed home, though," he tells Sirius. He does look like he needs to sleep rather more than all of them combined.

Sirius snorts. "And let you eat James? No way."

"Oy, I've been getting better at it! I don't even bite you anymore!"

"You liar," Sirius counters.

"Not half as often, anyway," Remus amends, then his brain catches up with him. "Why would I eat him?"

"I would if I could," Sirius answers, grinning as James thwaps him upside the head. He looks as if that alone is enough to topple him over, but the glint in his eyes is nothing if not mischievous. " _Venison_."

"No _way_."

"Yuh way," Sirius replies with undisguised pride. "He's a roast rump waiting to happen. Last night he managed to transform, and he simply looks _delicious_."

"I want to see."

"We'll have to move the furniture."

James is a stag, gleaming white in the harsh light of the cellar's lightbulb.

Remus stares at him, enthralled and not a little touched. Now he's heard the story, he can't believe they kept something so momentous from him, can't believe that for years, they'd sacrificed every spare moment... for _him_.

And he suddenly understands why James waited for Sirius to arrive before he transformed — he _does_ look quite scrummy, and the smell of him makes Remus want to sink his fangs in his hindquarter, or his soft underbelly. It's a familiar sort of smell, he notices; kind of like hay and herbs and freshly-mown grass and goat and forest.

"I _know_ that smell," he tells them, surprised. "I just never connected it with you." He'd just thought it was something that had rubbed off on Sirius after his long hours in the stables every day, and Sirius confirms it.

"We figured you'd want to give him a bite," he explains, now gulping down a big glass of lemonade and looking very pleased with himself. "You're hard to confuse, Moony. I had to all but roll around in the stables," he adds, making them all laugh. "I won't be missing that little ritual, but the Hippogriffs might."

Remus is more amazed as he hears more of the story; how they have kept it secret because they won't register as Animagi, and because they didn't want to get his hopes up in case they couldn't manage to transform. He also feels a pang of guilt. All this time he'd thought they pushed him away sometimes, when he looked for them and couldn't find them. Especially recently, James and Peter were simply nowhere to be found nine times out of ten. And Sirius would always drag him away for those romps through the forest, even if he wasn't in the mood... He'd kept the wolf distracted all this time, so he wouldn't get the urge to bite them. Sirius would then spend half the night helping them practise, too.

"It's almost time," Sirius reminds Remus. "Don't turn back, James, whatever you do." The white stag prances nervously, nostrils wide. "Yeah, that smell is normal, this close to the moon. Just keep your tail on and don't freak out."

Remus undresses, while Sirius unearths half a ribcage and sets it down in front of James, who rears up, ears flat against his skull.

"Just in case he is still hungry," he tells the stag, and Remus lets out a laugh; Sirius did think of everything. His voice cracks, though, as the shift comes over him. Remus grits his teeth, but it doesn't do any good— it never helps, when his bones start to shift inside him, when they break and twist and rearrange themselves, breaking through taut skin. And today, the wolf is impatient to take over.

The pain of the transformation is as overwhelming as ever; searing, sharp, crushing and unbearable. Remus's breaths come in harsh inhales, sharp exhales that turn into sobs, and he falls to the floor as his legs give way.

This is when Sirius catches him. Every time. He doesn't transform until the very last instant, when Moony snaps at his face. Remus was never held during a transformation before, but this— _this,_ added to Sirius's voice: "I've got you, I've got you. Just breathe," — makes it bearable. Barely. He buries his face in Sirius's chest and clutches at him convulsively and he screams, screams, screams as his hands become clawed paws, screams as his back breaks in so many places, shifts and twists and changes, his insides burning like acid, screams as his skull and face crack, and it becomes a howl as the wolf takes over.

The next instant, he lunges for that tantalising prey that is always there, the one he can never, ever catch. The Dog is there all of a sudden, tail wagging and yipping.

And today, there is another animal. Large, white, with antlers and smelling of nerves, of fear. The wolf lets out a satisfied growl. At least this one knows how to properly react when faced with him. The Dog yips at him, jumps around excitedly between them both, in a very odd sort of introduction.

 _Friend, not food_ , the Dog reminds him. _Friend, not food_.

In the end, the wolf doesn't mind being in the cramped, tight little space he hates with a passion. Here, his every memory is filled with a thousand desperate bids for freedom, of biting himself, of clawing at himself.

Today, he is not inside the cage. Today, he is not alone, either.

He does jump at the stag, tries to chase it around, finds the way it leaps up with all four hooves hilarious. Every time he tries to claw at its rump, though, there is the Dog again, distracting him, defending it. And they fight. They roll around the floor, bumping into walls, into the cage, into the stag, clawing at the couch. Then they fight over who gets dibs on the couch, over the ribcage, over who gets to leap over the stag's back. It is exhausting and exhilarating and _fun_. It is a first.

The wolf has never before had fun here.

.

* * *

.

The instant the moon sets and Moony begins to turn back, Sirius does, as well. Holds the wolf as howls turn into screams and taper off into whimpers. Remus feels him put his boxers over his head, cover him warmly with his blanket, and levitate him to the sofa. Next to him, the stag's nose is working overtime, flanks bathed in sweat and eyes as wide as before.

"Turn back and call Hinky, will you?" Sirius says, his voice still half a growl. "I've got the sense I'm being actively looked for."

James looks pale with shock as he turns back. He is also speechless… and he is blurring out as he claps for his elf, who returns with a pristine waistcoat.

"Hey, Hinky. I need to get going."

"To the attic again, master Sirius?"

"No," says Sirius grimly. "Take me to Soho. I'll walk from there."

"If they're looking for you…" Remus protests at a slur. Sirius flashes him a crooked sort of smirk.

"I'll ruddy make them look some more."

"Your mother—"

"She was already apoplectic before I picked a fight with Bellatrix. This will make no difference, and I could use a walk." He claps James on the shoulder, gives Remus a pat on his aching head. "Sleep tight. See you on the train."

When Remus opens his eyes again, head throbbing fit to burst and very thirsty, James is still there, lost in thought… watching him.

"I thought you'd left," he croaks out. James shakes his head, eyes still wide. He scrambles to help him sit up, and Remus chuckles. This, again, is new. Sirius is never around when he wakes up. Because that's when Pomfrey takes over.

"D'you need anything?" James asks him.

"Water."

James hurries to get it for him, and Remus unfolds himself from under the blanket and puts his undies where they belong, then gets dressed. All the while, James is silently by his side, processing. Clearly, not only had Sirius failed to tell Remus about their friends' Animagus exploits, he also failed to tell James (and probably Pete) what to expect, exactly. Remus gives him a wan smile.

"So, tell me about your first werewolf experience," he prompts. "Was it everything you'd expected?"

"It's the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen," James blurts out. Remus stares at him. James stares back. Then they both burst out laughing.

James leaves before breakfast, promises to visit him before the holidays are over. He has hardly said his goodbyes, when the cellar door opens.

"Remus?" a tremulous voice calls softly. "Are you okay?"

Remus looks around the trashed room, vanishes the remains of beef lying around. "Yes, I'll be right up," he calls, and makes his triumphant way upstairs.

His parents are overjoyed. It's all, "Are you really feeling okay? You _can_ tell us, you know," and, "I can't believe you're standing up!" and, "You didn't bite yourself _once_?"

"I'm fine, just a bit achy," Remus tells them. And isn't that the pure truth.

.

* * *

.

The last few days of holidays are the happiest ever in the Lupin household; for the first time in years, they don't have to spend the week after the Moon drowning in potions and bandages. They go to the beach instead, with the Potters and the Pettigrews, and while their parents catch up, Remus, James and Peter splash around in the sea. Sirius, is of course, absent — they never see him except at school. Remus misses him.

"What are you, Pete?" Remus asks, as they're basking in the sun.

"I don't know yet, but I think—"

"I bet he's a gopher," James supplies. Peter thwaps him, but then laughs.

"I don't get the urge to _dig_ ," he corrects. "I don't know, Remus, but I promise, you'll be the first to know." And then he grabs another handful of peanuts and makes short work of them, shells and all.

"Maybe he's a beaver," James comments, stretching. "I hope we'll find out soon, I could do with a full night's sleep sometime this century."

.

* * *

.

Remus sees Sirius at King's Cross on the first day of term, accompanied by his uncle Alphard. This time, there is no Black Commotion — Sirius's mother is somewhere in the back, with the other Blacks, effusively saying her goodbyes to his brother while a couple of reporters snap pictures.

"Do behave," he hears Alphard tell Sirius, who snorts and shakes his head. He looks like he always does after a holiday, like he's just recovering from a disease. For once, though, he isn't having a furious argument with his family. If anything, they all seem to give him the widest of berths.

"See you later, Alfie. _Don't_ behave," he replies, Launcelot tap-dancing on his head. It's a marker of how used the students have become to the crazy owl, that nobody is surprised by its antics; that he is now distracting people from James's accidental transformations, is lost on everyone. Sirius nods at Remus in greeting, then gets steamrollered by James and his parents before he has taken another step.

He seems cheerful enough as he makes his way to their usual compartment, but as soon as they're inside, he curls up in his seat and sleeps like Remus usually does on the day after the Moon. He doesn't even try the meatball sandwiches Pete's mum sent for him, or wake up at all before they pull into Hogsmeade Station.

"Fell off a horse," Sirius tells them when they ask him why he's got a limp, then chuckles. "Apparently they don't appreciate my mother's dulcet tones any more than I do. Poor thing nearly had a nervous breakdown in midair."

Remus has a hard time believing it, but James, who is usually the most reliable source for fact-checking, has no idea what happened. Then he steers Sirius off to the Hospital Wing rather than dinner.

Over the next few days, Remus finds himself accompanying Sirius to the Nurse almost daily, which he finds odd but gets no explanation for, no matter how often he asks. One day it's a headache — Sirius's preferred excuse, this term — the next, a stomach bug, the next, a toothache. Whatever is wrong, his friends are pretty sure it's none of the above. He also excuses himself from Quidditch and sits out a fortnight's training, much to his team's dismay. Instead, Sirius spends every moment he can spare with Hagrid, racks up an impressive amount of extra credits for his Care of Magical Creatures class in the process. What is wrong, none of them find out.

It's made stranger because other than that, there doesn't seem to be _anything_ wrong with Sirius at all. Even James believes something happened, but Sirius just tells them they're a pack of worrywarts, topping off his statement with a dismissive, "Nunya." A week later, the visits to the Nurse are a thing of the past, and they reluctantly drop the subject.

.

* * *

.

The end of April brings with it the first truly warm days of the year, the lush greens and enticing smells lure everyone outside as often as they can… Which isn't half as often as the students would like. With final exams around the corner, Remus and his friends often find themselves in the Library rather than outside, revising and writing eternally long essays, making star charts and puzzling over Arithmancy equations. But whenever they can, they take their scrolls outside and study in the sun.

Well.

To be fair, Remus and Peter study. James and Sirius often just decide a swim or a nap would be a better use of their time. Remus envies them for it; they both have top marks, and no matter how many detentions they get — this, too, has returned to normal — their grades rarely ever fall below O-.

In spite of getting his nose rubbed raw against the books, Remus has never enjoyed the last term of the school year as much as this. From the moment he drags James and Sirius out of bed in the mornings, or Pete away from the Great Hall before class, or gets dragged to the forest in the afternoons by Sirius and James — who is now enjoying his status as king of the woodlands entirely too much and constantly wants to prance about in his fur — all the way to the late hours in the Common Room, which he spends pestering his three best friends to finish their homework and breaking up chess games and exploding card house competitions and magical Jenga, he has never been this happy.

Now they don't have to hide their Animagus training from him, they help Peter make some progress, while planning what they'll do during the next Moon.

The May Moon is the third super moon of the year. Remus is well aware that, if it hadn't been for his friends, the wolf would have ripped itself to shreds by now. The only thing worse than a super moon, in his eyes, is a blue moon — two Moons in one month would be too much to handle.

"We should go outside," Sirius drops the bombshell on them, just to start off the month of May with a proper bang and scandal.

"Are you _insane_?" the three of them chorus. Sirius grins, and he does look a bit unhinged in Remus's eyes.

"What if you get caught?" Peter hisses.

"What if I hurt someone?" Remus snaps.

"What if we lose him?" James asks curiously.

"We won't, you won't, and don't be stupid — We won't," Sirius tells them confidently. Remus's alarm bells get discarded and he installs a new air raid siren in his brain instead. "We're both more than capable enough of keeping Moony in check. Together, there's no way he'll get away. Why else have we been exploring the Forest?"

" _What?_!" Peter gasps.

"I thought it was just... _walkies_!" Remus protests. Sirius laughs, earnestly amused. "I won't do it, period."

"Period," Sirius echoes. "New sentence! We're going to the Forest, Moony."

Remus looks around for help, but James isn't forthcoming with anything, and Peter looks like his cockroach cluster just got lodged in his throat.

"Look, if you're too chicken, we'll spend this Moon in the Shack," Sirius tells him. "But I bet you — you, James Potter, Moony doesn't have that kind of Gold — 150 Galleons, we'll go outside the next Moon at the latest. Without incident. _Guaranteed_."

That night, Remus goes to bed early, but he can't sleep. The wolf in him is, of course, all for romping outside — he has never, _ever_ , been able to _run_ before. Never been out of doors. And it is for a reason. He hasn't forgotten — can't ever forget — how he'd felt when he'd woken up and realised he'd bitten Sirius. How lucky he'd been that it hadn't ended up worse. He _couldn't_ risk it.

He wouldn't. And, he decides, he _won't_.

"Fine mess you made, suggesting we take Moony outside," James mutters as he and Sirius make a beeline for their beds in the middle of the night. He and Sirius are using their inside voices— their inside _pranking_ voices — so even with Remus's sharp hearing, it is barely audible.

"I'm sick of the Shack," is the offhand response. "All the best pissing spots are taken. And it's boring. I'm running out of entertainment for him, too," he adds. You'll see when you have to spend two days in there — Let's just say I'm not surprised he used to bite himself every time," Sirius argues lightly. "Besides, Bambi, you won't even _fit_ in the tunnel with your tail on. I bet you won't even fit in the _hall_ , unless we get rid of the piano, and then I won't have anything to play — which is unfair. Hell, you will barely fit up the stairs."

"But… the Forbidden Forest?"

"It's the one place guaranteed to be devoid of… _nibbles_ on the Moon. It's large enough to let him run— can you _imagine_? He's never once been able to _run_ , James. It's unhealthy."

"It's risky." And it's so strange, when James is the voice of reason.

"So is staying in," Sirius argues. "That place is a health hazard. For you especially. Unless we waste a couple of months enlarging the ceiling and the tunnel, reinforcing the floors and the walls, and making the doors wider."

"Do you think it will work?"

"I bet you 200 Galleons." He sounds so certain, Remus almost wants him to be right.

"You're bold with your gold."

"I'm saving up for a new broomstick. I'm still four thousand G's short," Sirius replies, and they both laugh.

"You're on. If he's up for it, I'm game."

"As I knew you would, Potter. Get ready to cough up."

That night, Remus doesn't bat an eye. He wishes it were because he is worried about braving the outside world.

Instead, he is fantasising about _running_. Being free.

.

* * *

.

Saturday is Moon Eve, and they spend the evening in the Shack. Sirius wasn't wrong — Logic and spatial perception are two things wizards commonly lack, but Pads had gotten it spot on.

He regaled them with a piano concerto in D-minor, while Remus and Peter tried to untangle James's antlers from the chandelier, manoeuvred his hooves out of broken floorboards, piled up all the furniture in one corner… only to have to get James unstuck from the dining room door. All Sirius had to say to that, in between guffaws, was, "Watch your prongs, mate!"

"I can't believe it," James mutters hours later, frustrated, chewing on a bark cake — no pun intended — Sirius had made for him during his afternoon's detention.

Then they start discussing the possibility of taking Moony out in earnest.

.

* * *

.

"Don't fret, Moony. We've got your back."

"But what if—"

"What if," Sirius suggests, popping some beef jerky in his mouth (he keeps getting detentions in the Kitchens lately, so now he's always got a snack on hand), "You just take it as a belated birthday present?"

"You already gave me one," Remus grumbles. He still hasn't forgiven Sirius for stealing — and eating — his enormous box of birthday candies and chocolates before Easter.

"I replaced the lot, stop being so aggry. Besides," Sirius carries on seamlessly, "I've got a plan. It's a good, solid plan. And it _will_ work."

"How can you tell? You can't control the _wolf_ ," Remus counters. Sirius just gives him a lopsided smirk and a shrug.

"I'm sure I can. You're not _that_ scary, Moonster. Just relax and let Padfoot handle this."

And this makes Remus's already shaky confidence crumble.

Remus's dad sent him a note, claiming he's supposed to visit his fictitious Auntie Brunhilde in Norway. Sirius just dives into his trunk, emerges with a stack of parchment. He rifles through it, picks a letter, then hands it to James with a flourish. James looks at it, then bursts out laughing.

"Will she believe it?" he asks, chuckling. Sirius shrugs. Remus snatches it to read.

 _Dear Minerva McGonagall, it is with great emotion that I beg of you to allow James Potter and Sirius Black, Third Year students, to accompany me to the Annual Regatta in Adelaide. My team of sailing Goblins have fallen ill, and I need their help steering my boat. I shall collect them early on Sunday, the fifth of May. They will be back on Tuesday at the latest, hopefully with winner's wreaths to their name._

 _Yours respectfully,_

 _Alphard Black III, Esq._

They take their leave from Pete on Sunday morning, and spend the day in the Shack, playing games and — in James's case — reinforcing the floorboards. Sirius promised Remus they'd practise indoors that night, see if "Prongs" (as James has been christened by them all), and Pads are indeed capable of herding the Wolf away from a chunk of meat.

"If we manage, we'll take it outside. If we don't, I'll be 200 G's poorer, Moony, so don't let me down."

.

* * *

.

Dawn finds them plunged in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

Moony has never felt this sort of freedom, and the part of him that is still Remus and very much a passenger, can't but marvel at the simplicity of the plan. Pads had ushered Moony down the tunnel, to the Whomping Willow, and James had opened the passage for them from outside, then turned into Prongs.

Then Pads had just… taken off at a run, and of course, Moony followed, exactly like Remus always does when Sirius tears off without warning.

Now Moony is leading, recognising the paths Remus and Sirius have explored for months, following the scent of… meat.

Apparently, Sirius left him the proverbial trail of goodies, and, like a Pavlovian reflex, Moony is now bloody _trained_ to search for them and find them. Two hours later, they are as far removed from any humans as they can be, and the trail of meat ends.

Pads and Prongs have no trouble at all keeping up with him, and as the sun shines on them, Moony enjoys the feeling of sunlight for the first time in his life. Nothing, the wolf decides ecstatically, compares to _this_. Where super moons were the object of his worst fears, now he wishes they would happen more often. Two days as a wolf, _out here_ … it's the best thing in the world.

He hunts. He explores. He splashes around in a stream and startles a river troll — who runs away in a panic at the sight of him. Whenever he strays from the paths the Dog has laid out for him, the Stag and Dog flank him and steer him wherever they wish, like large and overenthusiastic bodyguards.

Sure, there are moments. He chases the Stag, hoping to get a piece of that rump, learns the hard way that its antlers can be quite painful; he gets into a handful of spats with the Dog over the Stag — and realises he doesn't fancy facing off against the Dog when he's putting his paw down; finds out the hard way that forest gnomes only look tasty, but get stuck between your fangs, and that it's bad form to try and eat Sirius while he's getting the stuck gnome out of his muzzle, because the Stag's antlers are sharp… yeah. So they gang up on him. But the Stag is _pack_ , the Dog is _pack_ , and the wolf is ecstatic.

He realises that centaurs only smell like wet mutton, but have _nothing_ edible about them. He learns that squirrels are the most elusive creatures to ever exist, and they can perch on a branch for hours, unmoving. And that they are so fascinating, he can also stay unmoving for hours. He learns that howling at the moon without having to peer at it through a crack in the wall, is the next best thing to squirrels. And Moony realises, there is _something_ to his friends beyond just _packmate_ , after all.

One hour before moonset on Tuesday, Moony finds himself back in his Shack, tongue lolling out and parched. He is so exhausted, he flops down bonelessly on the floor, so relaxed the transformation isn't half as excruciating as he is used to.

When he wakes up, he is wrapped in his blanket, his pants on his head, his potions within reach. And there's an exhausted white stag and a black dog on the rug, curled up against each other, fast asleep.

.

* * *

.

This is where things change, for the better. For good.

From this day on, beyond the transformation itself, Moony doesn't spend the whole Moon in the Shack again. He doesn't fret about the waxing moon or his animal urges anymore, because suddenly it is easy to embrace his two selves. It's as though his transformation is finally complete — it is still painful to _become_ the wolf, Remus doesn't think this will ever change — but _being_ the wolf has never been this _good_. His grades go up, his senses are sharper, and Moony understands Pads and Prongs now. Maybe because he finally listens.

The world doesn't fail to notice — On Hogsmeade weekends, there is talk of werewolves in the Forbidden Forest, of a Grim being sighted, a shadow from hell itself that precedes this deadly werewolf— Randall Chittock saw them on a hill the other night, while flying home after a party. Hagrid has the Three Broomsticks enthralled with his sighting of a white stag deep in the forest, and the villagers tell tales of the Wild Hunt, the old myths of Arawn's hunting grounds, of death omens, and… being very sensible, they resolve to lock their doors on full moon nights.

Rather than the victim of a deadly condition predicted to kill him before adulthood, Remus feels like he has acquired a secret identity. He has never before felt this comfortable in his skin.

Sirius, too, starts getting better at the whole caring for animals thing. He still rides the Erumpent and fools around with the Hippogriffs, but his monthly _accidents_ become a thing of the past.

He also suddenly shoots up like a blooming beanstalk. By the end of May, he is three inches taller, and though the Slytherins have long ago stopped mocking him for his height, the days of being called "little" are gone, and his voice acquires an odd husky tone that announces an impending change. Padfoot, too, simply _expands_. He has always been large, but the following Moon, his pawprints in the mud are almost as large as Remus's, and now stealing his steak is a feat.

Hogwarts is by now a hive of activity; tensions are running high amongst the OWL and NEWT students, and stress is a factor shared by almost everyone. The teachers lean on them to breaking point, while everyone tries to cram as many facts and spells and mnemonics as they can. Even Sirius and James are seen studying, but Remus knows it's got nothing to do with school. James is obsessed with Quidditch tactics; Sirius has been caught reading books on map-making, doodling moving figures on parchment. Reading up on all sorts of topics, from potions to charms to duelling spells. He is all over the place, but makes a point to never read _anything_ about the actual things he'll be examined on.

In this atmosphere, the Gryffindor game against Slytherin becomes the centre of everyone's attention. As the game looms, House rivalries reach a peak, and especially the House Teams are constantly under attack. Trent Wood is sent to the Hospital Wing with reversed knees four days before the game, and though they often complain that he's the worst Seeker ever to play for the team, the furious Gryffindors end up in an epic fight with Slytherin House in retaliation.

It is then decided that the rest of their team shouldn't be alone at any time, which amuses James and Sirius to no end. They, of course, don't give a care and make a point of mocking and pranking the Slytherins whenever they can. Remus and Peter make a point of always being around.

Just in case.

The day before the match, a scuffle breaks out in the Entrance Hall at breakfast, and it includes members of every House. Dumbledore himself has to break it up, ends up dishing out detentions before the food has even appeared. To everyone's surprise, James and Sirius aren't involved; all team members are to stay away from trouble unless it's unavoidable— but when the Gryffindors look around, they realise they aren't even here.

"They were right behind us when we passed the boar statue," Peter says, and Remus curses.

"Yeah, that's when you ran inside with your morning battle cry," he answers, but they are already backtracking their steps, turning corners and hurtling down corridors in alarm.

"Let him go!" It's Sirius's voice, and it makes them run faster.

They skid to a halt on the Second Floor, where some Slytherin Seventh Years, led by Bellatrix, are ganging up on James and Sirius.

"I'll get Frank," Peter squeaks, turning away before Remus can say anything.

"Oh, we'll let him go," Rowle sneers, his hand around James's throat. "In a second."

Bellatrix's wand digging into his own throat, Sirius growls out something unintelligible. James is kicking out against Rowle, which makes the Slytherins laugh.

"Can't have you two ruining our chances for the Cup again," Mulciber drawls, aiming his wand at James, whose eyes widen. "We'll let you go after— in the oubliettes. They ought to find you in a week or two."

Mulciber raises his wand—

" _Expelliarmus_!" Remus yells just then. Mulciber's wand sails clean out of his hand and lands further down the corridor. Mulciber whips towards him—

The distraction is all they needed. There is a yell, a blinding flash of light, and the next thing Remus knows, Sirius is helping James to a shaky stand. Bellatrix, Mulciber and Rowle are in a smoking heap, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" Sirius asks James, who is coughing and gasping for air.

"Bloody hell, Pads— What did you _do_?"

"It's this bloody ring," Sirius admits, stepping to the heap of bodies to examine his handiwork. "This sort of thing happens when I use it."

"You've got a _blasting ring_?" James sounds admiring. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because it's not a blasting ring," is the answer. "It's just cursed. It eats… it eats you up unless you give it something to feed on. I chose to give it, you know... my fear."

"So it… eats your _fear_?" Remus asks curiously.

"When I use it, yes."

"But there's a catch," James prodded. "There's always a catch with these things."

"You saw." Sirius answers, now regarding the three Slytherins critically.

"The Hufflepuff match?" Remus guesses. Sirius nods, his expression tight.

"I get so… _angry_. And, and I think of these spells, or… I get these ideas, and I can't help it, I _just_ act on them."

"So that's why they're leaving you alone," James doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with Sirius's cursed ring. "I swear, Pads, if you hadn't turned the corner just then—"

Sirius scoffs.

"They're leaving me alone because I _told them to_. I sent them packing, the lot of them, and so far, it's worked out splendidly. I guess," he adds thoughtfully, "it helps that I don't give a fig what they think anymore." He looks at Bellatrix and Rowle, kneels next to them, and begins to rearrange them into a _very_ compromising position. When he places Mulciber's hand under Rowle's bunched-up robes, Remus blushes furiously and James falls about laughing.

"That's how you stopped being afraid," Remus says, managing somehow, not to lose track of the conversation.

"Yeah. And _then_ I bloody went and hospitalised the Puffers, let's not forget about that." Sirius put Bellatrix's head so close to Rowle's it looks as though they snogged each other senseless. Even James blushes as Sirius puts Rowle's hands in places they have no business being.

"Do you use it often?" he asks instead.

"No. I don't want to use it at all. But I can't take it off, and sometimes I can't help it."

"It's handy, though," Remus establishes, while James adds some Gluing Charms to them. Sirius steps over them as they make their way to the Great Hall.

"I guess." Sirius still sounds bothered. James claps him on the back, clearly seeing no wrong in this. Remus, though, understands why Sirius is so worried. He _could_ become a monster, like his father. When he's violent, he's more than violent, and his self-control goes out the window. Not that he had much of it to begin with, to be honest— but he could control himself better, before.

That Saturday, James leads the Gryffindors to victory against the Slytherins with a final score of 860-150, even without a Seeker; Sirius doesn't take out most of the opposing team— just two Chasers and one Beater— but he does stick around until the end of the game this time, and when they're carried triumphantly back to Gryffindor Tower, he looks as happy as they all are.

Peter wakes up with a tail one morning, and they have all hands full trying to help him lose it again. It looks like a ringworm and has them in stitches, and then his front teeth grow so large, he has to go to the Nurse to get them trimmed.

By June, the bets are placed; he can be either a rat, a muskrat, or — Sirius is betting on this — a squirrel. Remus thinks he might become a dormouse, but keeps this idea to himself. Peter is over the moon, and he _loves_ his new nickname — Wormtail — and now it's him who needs their constant company and support. Even Launcelot starts spending his days perched on Peter's shoulder instead of Sirius's, crooning at the chubby boy and stealing the many snacks he constantly keeps about him.

Peter clearly enjoys every second of it, and when he grows whiskers in Charms class one day, he gets so excited he nearly wets himself. That's another thing — whatever he is, sphincter control isn't a part of its capabilities, and Peter ends up running to the loo a million times a day. James and Sirius find it hilarious.

School goes by in a flash. They celebrate the ending of a gruelling week of final exams with an adrenalin-fuelled Quidditch Cup Final, where Gryffindor beats Ravenclaw 600-150 and the ensuing celebration is attended by most of the school. Even some of the Slytherins decide they need to unwind, and oddly, there are no incidents this time, no duels to break up.

.

* * *

.

"I'm not sure if I can make it." Sirius states, as they clatter out of Hogsmeade Station for their Summer holidays. Remus has a very good report in his pocket, and is feeling more optimistic about the July Moon than ever.

"Can't you tell your mother—"

"No."

"—That you'll come sleep over a few days?" James finishes, undeterred. "You used to come over all the time, when we were little, and—"

" _No_. I _told_ you." Sirius sounds worried. "Maybe if Alfie lets me stay, I could tell him I'm going to see you overnight. _Maybe_. If there's no parties. If I don't piss them off." Sirius sighs.

"It's okay, you know," Remus tells him, as they're on the King's Cross platform surrounded by a crowd of parents and students hauling their baggage away. "You don't have to come over. I won't eat Prongs," he assures him. Sirius smirks.

"Be good, Moony."

"You be good, Pads."

Sirius grins at him, then makes his way towards the Blacks. Launcelot hoots from Peter's shoulder. Sirius's mother clatters over, tries to steer him away. He levels a a sharp look at her, and she lets go of him as if burnt. Sirius gives them all a last wave, as Alphard puts a hand on his shoulder, turns on his heel. The next instant he is gone.

.

* * *

.

As June gives way to July, Remus finds himself worrying about the July Moon. This time, he won't be able to run freely around the forest. His mother understands his nerves, even if she has no way of knowing why he's so anxious this time. On Moon Eve, she kisses his forehead, puts a plate of sandwiches and lemonade on the table, and locks the cellar securely.

She had tried to make it into something of a den. It looks nice if you don't focus on the reinforced steel cage sitting in the corner.

"I thought I told you to make it bigger?" Sirius's voice makes him jump about a foot in the air. "We won't fit, Moony."

Sirius is standing outside again, already working on vanishing the bars on the window.

"I thought you couldn't come—" Remus tells him with a grin.

"Catch. Hambones, tonight." Sirius slips through the narrow cellar window without a problem. Today, he is wearing muddy cords and riding boots and a black riding jacket, and otherwise looks roughly like Remus does after the Moon. He also smells of barnyard, of horses and leather, and the wolf in Remus is very curious about the combination. The rest of him is concerned.

"You look a bit under the weather."

"Yeah, hay fever, probably."

"You look worse than hay fever, mate," Remus points out, but goes largely ignored.

"I've got an idea for tomorrow, since it's a cramped little cage and there's zero chances of getting you outside," Sirius tells him instead. "I looked, Moony. There's like a million Muggles all over the place."

"I know," Remus shrugs. "The wolf won't like it, but it's better if we stay in, tomorrow."

"Let's make sure we can at least run around," says Sirius. He then starts working on the cage, rattling off charm after charm and Remus suddenly realises what Sirius has been studying since Easter.

"It'll look the same from outside, but it's bigger on the inside, see?" Sirius tells him, all excited. Remus steps inside, and gasps. The cage is enormous on the inside, shimmering magical folds marking the steel bars. It's as though reality itself has been stretched to breaking point in here. Sirius even added some shrubs and grass and trees to it, to make it feel a bit like a forest. "Like the TARDIS," he says dreamily. "Even Prongs will fit in here. Could we panel it in blue? No? Alright, have it your way."

"It looks brilliant," Remus decides. "What's a TARDIS?"

Sirius talks his head off about Doctor Who over dinner, while attacking the pile of sandwiches Remus's mum made, and tells him about the Muggle telly he secreted into the attic of his mother's house and all the amazing things Muggles come up with. He even finds blenders amazing, and finishes his speech with a dreamy, "I want one."

The next evening, James arrives at four once again, with an enormous sack of meat. His elf brings Sirius over at seven. He's in pyjamas and slippers, tonight, moving at a shuffle, but he's in such a good mood it's easy to overlook what he claims is just a head cold.

That night, they lock themselves up in the cage and run around until even Moony is exhausted. Padfoot and Prongs make sure he is so turned around, he doesn't even know where the door to the cage is.

Remus wakes up after the moon, his head pillowed on Prongs's soft belly, the large stag's head resting on his chest. He finds it's a very nice way to wake up. He reaches up and finds his pants. As always, of Sirius there is no sign.

He keeps up correspondence with his friends — bar Sirius, but he hasn't ever been good about sending letters, and during holidays, he disappears into the abyss that is the Black family. There are a few news reports that feature him — nothing to worry about, just a couple of state dinners and opera house appearances — but try as he might, he can't find anything openly wrong in those pictures.

This Summer turns out to be brilliant for the Lupin family. His dad decided to take some time off and they all visit the Canary Islands together, for a fortnight of pure enjoyment. If nothing else, Remus's improved condition has motivated his parents beyond belief. They visit Diagon Alley to get his school supplies, and he and his mum go to museums together, to the theatre, to the Glastonbury Festival.

By the time August comes around, Remus's spirits couldn't be higher. On the second of August, James arrives with the customary parcel and the news that Sirius begged off at the last minute — his family has a ceremony or other, and he can't possibly get away this time.

"He'll be here tomorrow, though, he promises," James tells him, then turns around to gag as Remus's fangs sink into his and Sirius's steak dinners.

Sirius does arrive the next evening, two hours before the Moon. James and Remus have been planning their exploits for the upcoming year over an intense game of Exploding Snap, but all that is forgotten when their craziest friend staggers to the couch and lies down. His dress robes have a slept-in look, and he smells as though he could use one of his traditional long baths just about now.

Sirius is paler than ever. He looks downright sick, and Remus can see something is wrong — something that's not hay fever or falling down stairs or off horses but worse, the kind of worse that doesn't bear speaking of, the kind of worse he lived with for years.

Remus has bad days on the Moon — or he used to, and it used to take him a long time to recover — but dread it as he might, he _knew_ when it would happen and also that it would be _over_ by moonset. It's as though Sirius has only bad days during the Summer, as though he's weathering a bad moon that lasts from the moment he gets on the train to the instant he returns to school, and though Remus and James exchange worried looks, Sirius tells them it's just hay fever, inhales the steak-and-kidney pie James's mum sent him, and shakes it all off once more.

"Ugh. I need to groom you, man," says James a little later, running his hands down Padfoot's fur and coming away with tufts of dog hair. The huge black dog is thin, his coat lacklustre and unkempt. "You're shedding."

He isn't just shedding, Remus realises. He is ill, really ill.

And yet, he is here. For him.

As Moony and Prongs find out a little later, Padfoot is in an excellent mood after an ardent fight over the ribcage Hinky left next to one of the trees earlier. It doesn't flag one jot all night, as if he's been saving all his pent-up energy for the Moon.

"See you on the train," Sirius says, the instant Remus turns back, securing his y-fronts over his head with a _snap_. Remus nods weakly, curled up against Prongs.

.

* * *

.

They see each other sooner than that.

James calls them all for lunch at his place on the tenth of August. This isn't out of the ordinary, Peter and Remus often visit. During the Summers, it's always just the three of them, and now Remus knows why that is, he can't but feel like something is missing. Sirius isn't abroad as he's thought for years, and while he _does_ live in a manor house and his family is evidently rolling in Wizarding Gold, every day of his Summer sucks.

"So, what's the occasion?" Remus asks, as they're settled in the Potters' garden and surrounded by food. James just smiles.

"Wait and see, Moony. It's a surprise."

Then Sirius arrives with his uncle Alfie. They are both wearing excellently-tailored dress robes and suits — Remus wonders if Sirius even owns a set of regular clothes by now — and Sirius from afar, looks no different than he looks at school.

That changes when they rush to the house to welcome him; if Sirius looked ill before, now he's looking like he's barely on his feet. He is smiling widely, though, looking very pleased with the world.

"Of course we don't mind keeping him until school starts," Betty Potter is telling Alphard as they approach. "Enjoy the Isle of Man." Alphard tips his hat at them in greeting, then hurries away and disapparates, as though he doesn't want to be seen in Godric's Hollow by anyone.

"Come with me, Sirius, I've got something for you," Betty says, steering their friend inside. "He'll be with you in a second, boys." Sirius emerges from the house a little later, looking incredibly comfortable in jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt. When asked, he tells them he had a row with his mother, got into one too many duels with Bellatrix and Lucius and "that lot". Which would explain why he looks like someone hexed his spleen to switch sides.

Then he grins, "Mother banished me from the house. I'm supposed to spend the rest of the holidays with Alfie, so there's that."

"For good?" they chorus hopefully.

"Yeah. Or, you know. Until she changes her mind," Sirius shrugs, reaches for the pie. "At least now I know what buttons to push next time. Anyway, Alfie doesn't have a clue what to do with me. He's got this trip he wants to go to, and something tells me it's nothing you'd want a kid around for."

"You'll stay over, of course," says James at once.

"Of course. He said he'll pick me up in September to get me to the train. So the gargoyles don't get suspicious."

"Great!" James exclaims, and Remus decides he'll come visit as often as he can, too. Peter, apparently, is also staying over. "Dad just got a new crate of Quidditch balls, and practice Bludgers, just for you."

.

* * *

.

September First comes around, and as Remus heaves his trunk off the trolley with his dad, he can't but appreciate the marked difference from last year.

Sure, Peter is already wrestling the enormous Snack Basket on the train, and Remus nods and smiles at the myriad last-minute reminders to eat his vegetables and have fun, and agrees to come home for Christmas this time, moon or no moon. The First-Years are all a bundle of nerves, and Sirius's owl is making a scene somewhere in the compartments — it's still following Pete around everywhere — and all of it is _normal_.

The Blacks all usher their children to the very back of the train, as far removed from where Sirius is arriving with his uncle Alfie, wearing a shockingly purple t-shirt, his memento from the disastrous Windsor Free Festival, which they attended together the previous week. James, a bit further away, is wearing an identical one, and instead of a Black Commotion, there are only all-round smiles and many hugs from the Potters, and as Remus approaches, he hears James's mum bestow the same sort of advice on his friends as his parents have showered on him.

This is the first time Sirius looks happy and healthy at the start of the year, if a little sunburnt. He's as tall as James now — but where James's ears look a bit too big, his movements are awkward and he's all knees and elbows, Sirius looks _fit_ , in top shape. There's nothing _awkward_ about him or his movements. It's as if now his body finally decided to grow, it also decided to do it in perfect sync.

"Moon, tonight," Sirius comments, looking at Peter, who nods, grinning toothily. "We'll miss the feast," he adds.

"We'll need some quality excuses, people," James prompts excitedly. "Everyone will notice the four of us are gone."

"The _four_ of us?" Remus asks, surprised. For an answer, Peter turns into a large, fat rat in front of their eyes.

Remus cheers. James and Sirius join in. When Peter reappears, he is beaming.

The night of September first, 1974, is the best Moon of Remus's life.

That night, for the first time, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs claim the grounds and forest of Hogwarts as their own, the strangest pack ever to roam the place. Moved by fate, by compassion, by friendship, that night, they become legends that would be spoken of for generations to come.

For Remus Lupin, the best time of his life is just beginning. The following morning, while his friends are being told off by McGonagall for skipping the feast and earn their first detentions of the year, he writes what he knows will be the final entry of his wolf journal. He looks at the first.

 _I want to tear Sirius Black to pieces and eat him._

Remus chuckles to himself. So much has changed, and yet… Nothing has. Nothing ever _will_. And that is the stability he always wanted.

This new routine, he can absolutely live with.

.

* * *

.

 **Epilogue: Summer Moon**

* * *

"Hey, son, look what I found in the attic."

He is visiting his father today. He insisted they share a dinner before he leaves for Hogwarts in a couple of days. Lyall Lupin seldom cooks anymore, and to judge by the dust on the mantel and furniture, he doesn't spend much time at home either; he hasn't for years, not since mum died.

Remus only comes here when he can't afford to pay the rent, himself. Or, like today, when he needs to pick up some of his things.

An old, leather-bound tome lands on the kitchen table. Unlike the rest of the house, it's not covered in dust.

"It's got a bunch of school notes. Who knows, maybe you can use it for your classes," Lyall says, completely missing the look on his son's face. He hasn't looked at his old wolf journal in years, and it brings back memories that are now coated in pain, in hatred and revulsion. Memories he's fought hard to shunt aside for twelve years, leave them behind once and for all. They have a way of resurfacing when he least expects it, however. Especially of late.

"Thanks, dad," Remus says anyway, past the sudden constriction in his throat.

That night, he thinks of burning it. He is aware why Dumbledore asked him to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Sirius escaped Azkaban a little over a month ago. Even now, the bastard is still making history, doing the impossible. Before July, he had been effectively dead to him.

Why couldn't he have _stayed_ dead?

He leafs through the worn pages, lingers a moment on the life-like, still moving drawing of him Sirius made all those years ago, when things were simpler. When he never spent a Moon alone, when he thought his friends would be there forever. It was thanks to Sirius, and then James, and Peter, that he survived his school years.

He has spent every Moon alone since November 1981. He will spend every last Moon alone, and this, too, can be laid at Sirius's feet. James and Peter, of whom Remus has been thinking ceaselessly these days, are long gone. Also Sirius's doing.

It is to Remus, as though he can never escape him. Even his wolf journal from Third and Fourth Year reveals this trait.

Sirius, Sirius, always Sirius. Why? Why does he remember him best of all?

Even as a kid, Sirius was on his mind more than his other friends. His fourteen-year-old reasoning:

 _He's the only one in my pack who isn't dinner or a snack._

 _He's the only one in my pack who will always, always be ready for a fight. The only one who was never scared of me. My equal._

How wrong had he been. How blind.

But… how come Sirius always knew what he needed, before the Moon and after?

How — _when_ — did he become a murderer? Remus doesn't have an answer to that. Had he been around more, during 1980… maybe he would have known.

He reads random entries; Sirius's name pops up everywhere. There is an entire dissertation of why Sirius did the things he did back then, pages filled with an account of his doings as much as Remus's own. Reading it, now, he realises he was bordering on obsessed.

Some bring out a smile in him; the day they caught the boar, how horrified Sirius was when James told him it was a type of _pig_. How they ate it anyway, and realised they had never had anything that tasted better. Nothing tastes better than than something they'd hunted down together.

Other entriesare too painful to read, although he knows he might, eventually; when Prongs fell down the ravine and his antlers were stuck in a bough of holly, and they were laughing too hard to get him out. The Wolf had wanted to eat him, and Padfoot had all paws full keeping him away — back then, he'd have died for James. What _changed_? — Another, when Peter got stuck down a rabbit hole and he and Padfoot dug him out, only to find a catacomb that was the object of their collective interest for weeks after.

Things had been simpler, then. Filled with adventure, with wonder. They had each other, and it was enough.

He still used the Shack on the Moon until recently, but it is in a sorry state. Like his family cottage, like himself, it has fallen into disrepair. Remus only spends as little time there as he can, and he never repairs or cleans it after. It had taken over a year to get rid of the pervasive smells in there. Now, Dumbledore and — hard as it is to believe, _Severus Snape—_ have come to him with a solution. He started taking the Wolfsbane last month. Now the wolf is tamed. There's no need to return to the Shack, ever again.

He _should_ tell the Ministry. Tell Dumbledore, at least. Sirius as a dog might successfully infiltrate the Wizarding School. Might finish what he started, twelve years ago. Kill James's son.

James's son.

 _Gods_.

Remus hasn't seen Harry since James's and Lily's funeral. He figures he should have been there for him. James would have been around for him, were their roles reversed, had Remus left a child. It hurt too much, back then. It still does. He failed James. He _cannot_ fail his son. He _must_ tell the Ministry. Tell Dumbledore, at least. Let them bring Sirius to justice. Let them kill him. He is dead to him, so what the hell, right?

Remus sighs angrily, tosses the journal onto the bed, where it flops open at the very last entry. And there, incidentally, is his answer.

 _Sirius Black saved my life in the last thirteen Moons. He took a murderous, bloodthirsty monster and tamed him, showed him how to live. I will never forget that, even if I cannot tell him. He'd just laugh it off and say, "Moony, you're such an idiot." And maybe I am._

Then, on the page opposite, the real reason why Remus never will tell the Ministry, or Dumbledore, or anyone. Something he has never told anyone before; he never will.

 _I am in love with Sirius Black._

.

* * *

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Fin.

That was it, guys and gals of the internets. I hope you liked this, which started off as a three-parter, and ended up becoming much, much larger. If you liked (or didn't, because, it happens), do let me know. Any and all feedback is very welcome and greatly appreciated!

DND


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